


The Daughter

by Jules_In_Neverland



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Drama, Monoparenting, Multi, Post CoE, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 16:56:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 55,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14623101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jules_In_Neverland/pseuds/Jules_In_Neverland
Summary: August 2011, a month after Robin's wedding. Charlotte's mistakes leave Strike with a newborn daughter he has never wanted nor known how to care for, but of whom he can't get rid of because he couldn't live with himself if he did, so he lets her come to him unwanted and win more and more of his heart every day, just like Robin did. And little Cassiopeia compensates with giving him a company and love he never even dreamed of and perhaps, bringing Robin closer too.





	1. Chapter 1

On Thursday, the window of Strike’s small attic flat was open in hopes of getting some fresh air inside, yet Strike still felt like melting as he rejected putting on his suit jacket in favour of just leaving his blue-gray shirt. He made an effort on taming his ridiculously unruly dark curls but eventually and with a sigh he left them as they were and made his way downstairs, entering his office just a short time later, opening and closing the door in which now it could be read:

_B. Strike & R. V. Cunliffe_

_Private Investigators_

“Good morning partner!” said Robin cheerfully from the same desk she had occupied for the past year and five months. The strawberry-blonde had arrived like a kitten, first being let in for a few days out of pity and empathy and then forever, and Strike no longer wished her gone, which was why he had gone through enormous efforts –including agreeing to consider her a junior partner officially in a brand new contract and putting her name on the door, not to mention apologising a hundred times- to have her back. She, too, had had to swear, by contract, her own part. She would never go on solo during an investigation without even consulting with her senior partner, face to face, again.

“Good morning,” Strike’s sullen expression transformed into certain cheerfulness as his lips moved to form a small smile. “Fancy some tea?”

“I already made it,” Robin pointed to the two mugs standing on a corner of her desk, and in the movement the golden band in the ring finger of her left had shun with the sun, as she turned her chair to face him. She, too was smiling. Beaming in fact. She loved being back.

“God, you make it hard not to appreciate you,” Strike commented as he grabbed his creosote tea, just like he liked it, and hummed in appreciation with the first gulp. She giggled softly.

“Which is why...”

“I’m never, ever, ever, firing you again,” they both nodded.

“Good boy,” Robin laughed as he rolled eyes.

“Did you find out why my number was blocked in your phone?” Strike asked flopping on the farting leather sofa cradling his mug between his hands.

“Yeah...” Robin sighed, leaning back on her chair. “Matthew. He says he was just protecting me from hearing more bullshit from you over the phone.”

“Oh,” Strike frowned. He hated Matthew. At first it was just dislike and disdain, but he had grown to fully hate his guts. He thought Robin deserved ages better than her brat of a husband. “So... you’re not upset?”

“Oh, he saw my wrath, that’s for sure,” Robin nodded, her light eyebrows coming closer. “But... we just got married so... I don’t really want to start this off with fights. I made him swear not to touch my phone or my laptop ever again and I changed the passwords of everything I own. I told him if he didn’t prove to be trustworthy then perhaps I had made a mistake forgiving him and marrying him, and he got all chickened out. Now he sort of licks my feet.” Robin added with her tongue between her teeth, amused. Strike snorted a laugh.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy, _partner_ ,” Strike got up and extended a hand. “Come on, give me my homework for the day.” Robin kept being the best at secretary stuff and the best with people, so although now they shared some secretarial duties, she was still the one to attend the phone and give the first impression to clients. It was good for the business. So the younger girl giggled and extended him a file.

“Gary Toppings, wants to find out who is sending him death threats. You investigate his background, I go on surveillance to Chelsea,” Robin explained.

“Chelsea?” Strike raised his eyebrows surprised. It was an expensive borough of rich people. Robin nodded with a satisfied smile and got up.

“We’re being well paid for this. And make sure to check on Two-Times whenever possible all right? Call you around lunch to check on the rest of our duties?” she commented as she walked to the coat rack, where her purse was currently hung.

“Sure. If you’re going to Chelsea perhaps you could also check on...”

“Fake Blonde, I know,” Strike nodded, satisfied.

“Happy tailing!”

“Happy researching!” Robin laughed as she closed the door and, whistling cheerfully, made her way downstairs and out of the building. Strike stood there, like struck-by-lighting, before moving to put Robin’s empty mug on the sink and walking with his into the inner office. He, too, started whistling without noticing.

Strike had only been sitting at his desk, researching in his laptop, for a couple hours, when his phone rang. With his mind in how nice Robin’s perfume felt back in the office, he didn’t check the caller before answering the call.

“Cormoran Strike,” he said on automatic.

“Bluey...” Strike’s blood froze and he fell back against the back of his chair as he struggled to catch his breath. He’d recognise that sob anywhere.

“Charlotte,” he whispered under his breath.

“I-I need you to come...” she said between soft sobbing.

“Not gulping it Charlotte, b...”

“Wait!” Strike refrained from ending the call. “It’s about your daughter!”

“I don’t have a daughter.”

“Yes you do,” Charlotte breathed out. Strike frowned.

“What are you talking about, you crazy woman?”

“I... I stole your sperm!” Charlotte cried out. Strike scowled, his heart thumping painfully. He knew she was more than capable of that. “The last time we... I... I uh... we were doing 69 and I...”

“Charlotte, explain!” he hissed.

“I took it! Your thing, I took it! I put it on a bank. I thought... I thought perhaps... perhaps if I was pregnant you... you’d never leave me...”

“You said you were pregnant, what are you talking about?”

“I was! And then I lost it and... I wanted to be again! Because I had seen that if you thought I was, you were different, you would never leave me...” Strike felt himself about to faint. Charlotte’s breath was heavy against his ear. “So I took it so... so I could try in a lab... have bigger chances... without you knowing... but... but then... then you left me...”

“Charlotte...” he grumbled, impatient. Then Charlotte yelled, like in pain. “Charlotte! What’s happening? Charlotte!”

“Come! Bloody come, ‘cause I’m giving birth!” she cried out.

Charlotte shouted him the address of a hotel and the call ended. Strike, still feeling his heart hammering in his chest, ran for the door. He didn’t think of calling an ambulance, knowing it was probably a tramp, but he was still willing to personally kill her.


	2. Badass woman

As Strike barged into Charlotte’s luxurious room, whose door he found slightly opened, he saw Charlotte was, indeed, really pregnant, all blushed and sweaty, not on the bed but on the bathtub of the en-suite bathroom, her face contracting into the outmost pain as she bit on a towel and blood poured between her legs. Strike felt himself about to faint. What the hell was going on?

“What... why... what...” he was breathless from all the running, and flopped on top of the toilet’s cover, looking at his sweaty ex-fiancée in disbelief. “What the fuck, Charlotte? You need to go to a hospital!”

“I can’t, damn it!” Charlotte hissed, removing the towel from her mouth and leaning back, nude, white and clammy, as she groaned in pain. “If I do, Jago will find out. And Jago can’t find out!”

“Why? He’s your husband!”

“He can’t have children, Bluey,” Charlotte looked at him with pleading eyes. “He wanted us to have one so bad, and he won’t admit he can’t have them, so he’d get so drunk and so violent...”

“Did he hit you?” Strike roared. A sob escaped Charlotte’s lips as she nodded, her eyes teary.

“I took yours so I could give him what he wants! But this has gone too far, Bluey, too far!” Charlotte sobbed, reaching a hand to grab his. “I can’t give him this child, he’s a drunkie, he’s violent, he’ll hurt her! So... so you take her, the workers here are very discreet, I paid well... you take her and you say you found her somewhere, I don’t know! And I’ll tell him I gave her on adoption, and he’ll never find her, you can’t let him find her... our baby girl...”

“What are you talking about? How am I...? I don’t even want children Charlotte, you’re crazy, we need to bring you to a hospital and tell the police what he’s doing and we can put her up for adoption...”

“And she’ll spend her childhood between orphanages with barely enough money to feed her and foster parents who could rape her and God knows what, is that what you want?” she shouted, and then another contraction took over and the towel returned into her mouth. Strike, shocked, knelt next to the bathtub ignoring the pain of his prosthesis, and put an arm around her back, a hand gripping hers as she pushed and more fluids came from her vagina. Strike noticed then she had put scissors, clamps and a small towel on the verge of the bathtub and he felt a wave of admiration for Charlotte, whom he would’ve never deem capable of these noble acts of protection for their child or anyone else. “You need to take care of her,” Charlotte whispered eventually, taking heavy breaths. “She needs her father... you’re the best she’s ever gonna have and... you’re smart... you’ll figure it out...”

“This is absolutely mad...”

“I agree,” Charlotte caressed his cheek. “I wish I had never done this, I just thought he’d be better when I got pregnant and this girl would be his princess, covered in luxuries and all... I thought...” Charlotte started crying again. “You need to be with her! Care for her, love her! Leda raised good children with less than you have, and you have Nick and Ilsa and Lucy to help you... make her a good kid like Leda made you... oh God! Fuck!” she moved to push again, shaking with the effort.

“Good job Charlotte,” Strike encouraged, trying to assimilate the information. She squeezed the life out of his hand and Strike clenched his teeth and patted her back awkwardly as she screamed between grilled teeth, until she leaned back again to breathe.

“There,” Charlotte whispered weakly, pointing to a brown folder on the sink counter. “I’ve written a letter explaining all of this, and it’s signed, just in case you need it... and there are ultrasounds and everything...” her voice sounded weaker and weaker with the seconds. “I’m so sorry Bluey, I’ve been such an imbecile tosser, I’m so, so sorry... If I fuck her up I won’t forgive myself...”

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I promise you she’ll be happy. Come on Charlotte,” Strike encouraged, patting her back. “Come on, one big push more...” Charlotte nodded and clung onto him, clenching her teeth as she pushed hard for a long time, Strike moving a hand between Charlotte’s legs, until a cry echoed in the room.

**. . .**

                “This seems legit,”  the social services inspector remove her glasses after going through the A4 size folder Charlotte had left behind, as they stood anxiously in a hospital corridor, Strike looked distressed as his bloodshot eyes fixed on the window of a wall that showed his baby on the other side, in a little plastic crib, covered with a blanket. “Congrats, Mr. Strike,” the woman smiled and offered her hand to Strike. “You’re a dad. Given the circumstances and that you haven’t been prepared for fatherhood, I’m going to hand you my card so you can give me a call if you need any help.”

Strike was barely conscious of the card placed on his hand and nodded dryly as the woman bid her farewell and left. Ilsa, standing next to her in quality of lawyer and friend, kept a hand on his back, as they both stared at the baby in a mixture of perplexity and disbelief.

“Would you want to go fill the paperwork?” Ilsa asked with the soft voice she employed when Strike was in a complicated situation, as if the anxiety attack with which he had received hadn’t been indicative enough. “I’ve got it right here, we can sit over there and fill it, okay?” Strike nodded and let her guide him to metal chairs nailed to the floor nearby.

He sat on them with his eyes fixed on the baby wrapped in a blanket like a burrito, with her cotton pink beanie covering a very tiny, reddened and hairy head. Ilsa rummaged in her big purse for the folder that contained the papers she had bought at the register’s office on the way to the hospital in an attempt to get ahead with how unprepared they were. They had weeks to fill the birth certificate papers, put Ilsa supposed it would give him some distraction for a moment, so she gave him a hard folder to support on, placing it on his knees, put on top the birth certificate and handed him a pencil, so he could make a mistake without problems. Strike read the first sentence.

“Date and place of birth...” his voice sounded hoarse, his eyes nailing on the paper as if it was an insect.

“That’s easy isn’t it?” Ilsa encouraged, an arm around her shoulders as her hand squeezed his upper arm. “Thursday August 4th 2011, you’ve got a Leo uh?” she smiled softly. Strike nodded, writing the information as clearly as possible.

“The Egerton House Hotel, London...” he murmured as he wrote, so Ilsa could correct him if he fucked up. “Name and surname...”

“We can leave that for later, it’s all right. There’s plenty of time.”

“No,” Strike shook his head softly. “I actually know it.”

“You do?” Ilsa’s eyebrows reached her hairline with surprise.

“Yeah uh... mum’s got a constellation name and... when she was pregnant with Switch she always said if it was a girl, she’d name her another weird, uncommon, constellation name, Cassiopeia,” he said, clearing his throat. The memory was impressively clear in his mind now. “So... Cassiopeia it is.” He wrote the name neatly and then kept the pen suspended over the paper. “Uh... should I... should I put a middle name?”

“You can, if you want,” Ilsa said softly. Strike nodded.

“I should ‘cause... perhaps she doesn’t like Cassiopeia so that way... she’d have another to choose, right?” his eyes looked at Ilsa like a lost child, asking for advice from someone who knew what she was doing, and Ilsa smiled and nodded. “Which one?”

“I don’t know... something Blue Öyster Cult related?” she joked. Strike snorted a laugh and nodded.

“I don’t want her to hate me already...” he bit his lip, thoughtful. “Robin’s got a pretty middle name. Venetia. Is nice. Perhaps I should name her after a place?”

“You can choose your favourite place.” Ilsa suggested. Strike nodded, and then he wrote ‘ _Cassiopeia Mawes Strike_ ’. Ilsa snorted a laugh. “Beautiful name, Oggy. She may still hate you, but I think she’s got the coolest name out there.” Strike smiled a little.

“That way she can always be a little Cornish,” he said. “Father. Ha! That is easy... Cormoran Blue Strike.... St. Mawes, Cornwall... Private Investigator.”

“Well done, you’re almost finished!” Ilsa cheered, encouraging as she raised her eyes to little Cassiopeia, who was yawning into her blanket, with made her smile a little.

“Mother...” Strike let a long sigh out. “She’s dead.” He breathed out. “Charlotte’s dead.” He was still wrapping his mind about it. Charlotte, the woman he had felt for the most, the most good the most bad but always the most, the one who had hurt him so badly and the one who in her last hour of life had done everything in her life, in a very uncharacteristically Charlotte’s manner, to save their child. It had been so hard to get rid of her... and now that she finally did something worth admiring, she was dead.

“I know...” Ilsa’s voice had lowered, and she put her cheek on his shoulder. “But Casey’s got you, and so many uncles and aunts she’ll always be well-taken care of.”

“Bleed out in a freaking bathtub...” Strike looked at her sadly. “Why is it that not one Strike can have a mum?” Ilsa sighed and shrugged, squeezing his shoulder.

“Casey can’t miss something she hasn’t known, and we’ll make sure she never lacks a thing.”

Nick appeared in his white coat, looking a bit tired, and looked at his wife and friend, passing a hand through his receding hair.

“How did it go with the social services?” Nick asked using a soft voice, just like his wife had.

“She’s mine,” said Strike. “The inspector said that unless the paternity tests says I’m not the dad, the kid is mine and that for now, whenever I have things sorted out, I can take her home under the basis that Charlotte wanted it that way and left it written on a formal document that she was mine.”

“Do you think she is?” asked Nick, sitting on the other side of Strike, who puffed.

“I don’t know. Charlotte said she stole my sperm, so that would explain things... and they called the sperm bank in question to confirm things and they said that Charlotte did store sperm there for conservation claiming it was her husband’s, but then the hospital looked into Jago Ross’ record and he does, in fact, seem to be infertile, after he had some sort of biking accident a couple years ago and hurt himself.” Strike explained tiredly. Nick frowned.

“Ouch...”

“Charlotte said he was violent,” added Strike. “He hit her, even while pregnant. He deserves it all, if I can fucking prove the kind of man he is...” he gritted his teeth. “It’s a miracle Casey is all right.”

“Casey?” Nick asked confused.

“Cassiopeia Mawes Strike,” Ilsa explained, pointing to the baby. Nick giggled.

“Well done mate,” Nick squeezed his shoulder. Strike shrugged. “Are you going to take her home then?”

“I guess,” Strike sighed. “What am I going to do? I live in a miniature attic that in no way is the right place for a baby, I work all day long and don’t earn enough for fatherhood, I’ve got no idea about babies and I never even wanted a kid! I should just give her up for adoption...” he grumbled tiredly, and rubbed his face as he groaned into his hands.

“Then why don’t you?” Nick asked. Strike knew Nick and Ilsa would’ve been great parents for Casey, but Ilsa had just revealed to be expecting a week before. Strike removed his hands from his face and looked at the baby behind the class with a crestfallen expression.

“Because this is my baby daughter and this fucking mess is not her fault and she won’t pay for it,” said Strike. “Charlotte wanted me to have it, but regardless of what she wanted... is just not right to give her up into a system that has too many kids, too little money and too many foster parents with questionable parenting abilities, just because I’m absolutely unready for this, that’s my fault and is my duty to figure my shit out. I don’t have an excuse, I’m thirty-six, not some kid, I have an attic and an office, I’ve got people to help me, and if I need more money I’ll beg the Army to give me a ground job and work day and night all week long, they’ve always wanted me back and what else can I do uh? I can’t have the weight in my conscience of condemning her to a future that could be absolutely misery in foster care or with a shitty adoptive family... not when I saw her come into this world and I was the first one to hold her, and she stopped crying guys, you should’ve seen it like...” Strike rubbed his eyes. This day was too much. “She was crying so much and I held her and suddenly.... she looked at me... I swear, she was looking right at me, and stopped crying. I guess she must’ve been thinking ‘who the fuck are you?’ which was the same I was thinking.” He sniffled and took a deep breath, looking at the baby. Nick and Ilsa exchanged small smiles. “Besides... mum taught me better. In our home the little we had was always shared with whoever needed it, like Shanker. And we might’ve had dirty mattresses and broken shoes but... Lucy and I were the most loved children in the world, and we always had what we _needed_. I’m in a better situation than my mother ever was, so I know with some hard work, we’ll overcome this mess, and the business is going well... if I went from being homeless and ruined to being well-known for my job and having possible clients calling all day long, I will damn go from being a mess of a dad with no interest in children to being the best fucking dad, because that’s what that girl deserves, she’s had enough already, damn it. Besides, is just like having a cat right? Or a puppy?” he looked hopeful to their friends, who exchanged amused looks and patted his back.

“You’ll get there, we have two kids to raise together, don’t we? They’ll be best pals, like us,” Nick chuckled, looking at baby Cassiopeia. “She does have your round cheeky face...” Strike snorted a laugh.

“You know what?” Strike smiled a little. “We’ll figure it out together, she’ll be my best buddy and I’ll be hers and we can watch Arsenal games together... I mean I’ve always been good with the ladies, she’ll love me. And Ted and Joan never wanted children either and then Lucy and I came along and they adore us and love to be our surrogate parents so... this could be a good thing.”

“Just one more case to solve, am I right?” Ilsa chuckled. “And hey perhaps you hate all children except your own.”

“My own is special indeed,” Strike nodded. “Have you looked at her? She’s the prettiest of all those babies, and with my DNA, she’s going to be bloody intelligent. She’s going to be Robin and I’s apprentice one day, you bet.” He was slowly but steadily warming up to the idea. He’d never had a pet, but he was a good big brother, so he’d be a good dad as well.

“And you can never be as bad as all of Leda’s boyfriends, so there’s that,” Nick added.

“Right!” Strike nodded. Then he received a text from Robin: ‘ **Where are you?** ’ “Oh shit... Robin’s going to flip.”


	3. She's my daughter

When Strike and Ilsa came back into the hospital two hours later, Strike with a brand new baby bag hung from his shoulder, Nick and Robin were standing in front of the glass observing Cassiopeia and quickly turned around to face Strike and Ilsa. Robin had a small smile at their tired expressions and had her arms folded over her chest, her purse hung on her shoulder.

“Saw my kid?” Strike questioned with a chuckle. “Most beautiful girl in London, isn’t it? God, I forgot she was that cute...” his chuckle became into a full blown smile at the sight of the baby.

“Who are you and what have you done with my grumpy ogre of a partner?” Robin was amused. Strike shrugged.

“Ilsa has already handled my two anxiety attacks aka crisis, I could use all the Doom Bar of London, you can’t imagine the hell baby shopping is, and I’m basically running on adrenaline,” explained Strike. “I think I’m starting to like the idea though. I like challenges, and Jack adores me, so will Casey. I bet she already does, she held my finger and she looked at me and stopped crying.”

“He’s been telling everyone, everywhere,” Ilsa clarified. Robin grinned.

“Speaking of Jack, does Lucy know yet?” asked Robin. “Because I bet soon all London will know Charlotte Ross died giving birth to a child who suddenly went missing.”

“I called her briefly, she’s going to come as soon as she can leave work and help me sort things out,” Strike nodded. “Good thing my sister is an expert at child upbringing, and this is her dream come true, Charlotte dead and a niece. Look what I found for Cassiopeia!” he remembered suddenly, rummaging in the baby bag and pulling out a mini Arsenal’s t-shirt with a beaming smile of pride. Nick and Robin laughed. “We’re gonna be seeing the games together, you see? I can take her to the stadium in this.”

“He’s assimilating this as if he’s having a cute new puppy,” Nick commented to Robin, who nodded with a chuckle.

“Well I’m glad you’re better than I expected,” Robin commented. “So congrats, daddy,” she then hugged him and Strike, petrified at first –they had never hugged-, took a moment to correspond with a little smile. Matthew would not like this. “And you know,” Robin said as they pulled apart. “We’re partners, anything you need I’m here okay? I can manage things in the office so you can settle down and whenever you want to do surveillances I can stay at the office with her, we can...” she shrugged. “Gossip about clients? I’ll teach her how to use Google?” she joked, making Strike snort a laugh and nod.

“Thank you, Robin, that’ll be cool. It’s possible that I need a second job so... you’re going to be taking the lead at the office for me. I trust I taught you right?” Robin grinned.

“I won’t disappoint, as long as you don’t disappoint that girl over there,” Robin pointed at the baby and Strike smiled.

“I won’t fuck this up.” Strike promised with a firm nod. A young brunette doctor with sparkling blue eyes came out of the babies’ room with a cheerful smile and looked at Strike.

“You’re Mr. Strike, right? I’m Nurse Olive. Are you ready to pick your baby girl up?” she asked nicely. Strike nodded nervously. “Great! I’m going to fetch her for you, if that’s okay?”

“Sure, is uh, Cassiopeia, that one,” Strike pointed to the crib, but it wasn’t needed.

“Oh, I know. You’re kinda famous,” she smiled blushing and headed back to fetch the little girl. Strike observed as she caringly took the baby in her arms, smiling at her, wrapped her up in her blanket and walked out of the room. “You’ve got a very healthy 3.8 Kilo baby, rather heavy! And she’s 55 centimetres long, which means she’s going to be a tall girl like her daddy,” she commented cheerfully as she walked back to Strike, who smiled, satisfied. “Big girl it is. Okay so to hold her you always need to be supporting her neck properly, to make sure her head is in a good position. So you put your hand under her head, no difficulties with those big hands! Good job, and now you put the other hand under her ass and you can slid the hand under her head a bit lower so her head is in the crock of your elbow and you have your other hand ready to move to her face or something if she gets hungry or anything. She was fed half an hour ago so next feeding would be nice by lunch time. The doctor already signed her discharge papers and Nick told us you were just getting her stuff, so it’s all ready to go.”

“Awesome,” Strike looked down at the sleepy baby in his arms, who let him manoeuvre her as it was necessary. “Well, thank you very much.”

“Just doing our job, good luck and if you need anything by all means, pass by. She’s a good kid, your girl.”

“I know,” Strike smiled.

“She was flirting,” Ilsa declared as Strike met the rest of the group.

“Was she?” Strike, normally observant, had been all eyes on the baby.

“Oggy, did no one tell you girls love babies? Nothing sexier than a daddy, I’ve heard,” Nick chuckled and patted his back. Robin pretended to be more interested in Cassiopeia than she was.

**. . .**

Strike’s eyes moved to Cassiopeia, sleeping in her stroller right next to him as he, Ilsa and Robin sat down for lunch at a place Ilsa knew near Denmark Street. Nick was still at work and Ilsa would’ve been if it wasn’t because Strike had called her in such distress, figuring he’d need a lawyer, when police had arrived ready to take his daughter away an arrest him for murdering Charlotte, that she had said at work that she wouldn’t appear by the Lawyer’s Office for the rest of the day due to a family emergency. She had only understood, in his distress, the words ‘Charlotte’s dead, I’m being arrested and I’ve got a baby’. And Robin and he had decided to cancel the day’s plans and just take care of the impeding business with Cassiopeia and organise things for the next few days. Strike had done some math and as things were going in the office, seeing how expensive Cassiopeia’s diapers and formula were, he’d need a second income somehow, so he’d start calling numbers the following week, giving himself a few days to accommodate to having Cassiopeia around and having in count that if he didn’t feel it was right to leave Cassiopeia with his people while he worked so hard, he’d just have to count with his one salary and take twice the clients. He could bring Cassiopeia with him to do surveillances, it’d help make him less suspicious.

Lucy arrived running just as they were looking at the menus, and greeted everyone quickly before hugging Strike.

“Stick, what the hell’s going on?” she asked anxiously.

“Well, it’s a long story but meet your niece, Cassiopeia Mawes Strike,” Strike pointed to the carriage. “Fresh from the oven, they said she’s enormous and ready to go home, basically.”

“Oh, _oh_ ,” Lucy’s eyes widened as she leaned over the baby. “You’ve got a daughter? Oh, she’s beautiful! She looks just like mum...”

“I actually thought she was a lot like you as a baby, but yeah, I suppose she’s got the marmoset eyes thing,” Strike shrugged, looking back at the menu. “She just ate and she’s sleeping now, so don’t wake her up.”

“I won’t. Aw... Jesus, I can’t even...”

“Believe it? Wrap your head around it?” Ilsa chuckled. “We feel you.” Lucy smiled at Ilsa and flopped on the chair next to her, around the small round table, and also next to her brother.

“I came as soon as I could, work’s been hectic...” Lucy commented.

“There’s no need to hurry up so much, it’s all handled now,” said Strike calmly, sneaking a hand inside the carriage from his seat to ensure Cassiopeia’s blanket covered her fully.

“Okay but what happened? Charlotte’s dead?” Strike nodded. “Shit... She was a bitch but I wouldn’t wish her dead...”

“Charlotte called me this morning. I was ready to hung up but she seemed to be in real struggle and told me it was about my daughter, that I needed to come to the hotel she was at. She said one of the times we... she stole my thingy...”

“Your sperm,” Ilsa rolled eyes. “We’re all married adult women I think we know how it works.” She smirked. Robin blushed.

“Well she stole it, she just took it and put it in a bank. She uh...” it was time to reveal something only Robin had ever known. “When we broke up, it was because she had been telling me she was pregnant of me for months without bump, without any medical appointment, any proof, any ultrasound... for months, until I knew it was all a lie and I got so angry I left her. Charlotte told me this morning that she had really been pregnant and she had seen how it seemed like a ticket for me to never leave her, but she lost it and instead of telling me she thought she could impregnate herself again behind my back, change the timing, and this time it would be a success and it would be the guarantee I’d never leave her.”

“That’s damn nuts,” Lucy had a deep frown. “Why didn’t you tell us...?”

“Not now Luce,” Strike pacified her. “It’s been a long day enough for arguments, okay? It was a bad moment and I didn’t feel like dwelling on it with anyone.” Robin looked at him feeling privileged that only she had known. She always supposed the others knew too. “But it’s why we broke up. Anyway, I broke up before she allegedly went to impregnate herself, so she still had my sperm when she went and married Jago Ross. And then according to Charlotte, he couldn’t have children, the hospital found out and told Wardle, who told me, that he had a biking accident not that long ago and was left infertile, but he refused to recognise it. But Jago really wanted a child and he got alcoholic and violent, more than he had a fame to be, with her for not giving him children, he blamed her. So she took my sperm and impregnated herself told him it was his and hoped to pacify him. But he got worse over the months and he hit her, until she woke the fuck up and realised he could never get a hand on the baby because he was dangerous.”

“Fuck...” Lucy cursed under her breath, her eyes fixed on him.

“So she called me to get the baby far from Jago and protect her because she’s mine anyway,” said Strike. “I don’t know if she hoped to get away from him one day too... but I know for sure that all she was thinking of today was birthing Cassiopeia so she could be put away from the danger of Jago Ross and she begged me to take care of her, she begged me to father her, she assured if Leda had done so good with us with much less resources than I had, I’d do perfectly fine too. She made me promise I’d care for the baby and I’d take her away with me and pretend I found her as fast as the baby was out. She hadn’t gone to a hospital precisely because she knew if she went they’d call Jago so she was there giving birth all alone in a bathtub with a towel in her mouth and a look in her eyes I’ve never seen before. She didn’t even seem Charlotte, she was suddenly a good, responsible, mature mother, you know? She even left written and signed documents with the whole story in case I needed it for legal shit or something. Joke’s on us.”

“Badass...” Lucy sighed.

“We can’t even quite hate her in the end,” Ilsa nodded.

“Then the baby came and I took her but I saw Charlotte was bleeding so much and losing consciousness and I knew something was wrong,” Strike continued before he lost the will. “So I called 999, figured I’d kill Ross later... I tried to save her but...” he shook his head. “She was dead before I could do anything, so I took Cassiopeia, and... I couldn’t leave Charlotte like that after that. I saw what she did and it was incredible and she was in so much pain, probably more for whatever was wrong, and she pulled through for her daughter. She insulted herself, she apologised for everything, she said she wouldn’t forgive herself if she fucked Cassiopeia up...” he shrugged.

“And you really believe she’s yours?” Robin asked softly.

“The paternity test will tell but yeah... there was something different in her. Something new. I doubt she lied.”

“What if she isn’t?” asked Lucy.

“She is,” Strike nodded. “And I’ll fight for her custody whatever it takes. I’m not letting this baby anywhere near the jackass of Jago Ross because regardless of what he’s done this time or not, he has always, his whole life, been a tosser. I promised Charlotte this would be a happy child I’d care for and no paternity test is going to make her any less Strike.”

“Good,” Lucy smiled. “’Cause I kind of like her already. What about Ross, hasn’t he come demanding to have her already?”

“He did,” Strike nodded. “Barged into the hospital. But social services already had the papers Charlotte left and my testimony, the hospital had already confirmed he is infertile... so social services said unless proven otherwise I am the father and even if I wasn’t, Charlotte wanted the child to be with me and Ross is now being investigated for domestic violence so... social services said at least for the time being, she’s mine. And when the paternity test says she’s mine, and Nick demanded super emergency for it so it’ll be ready tomorrow, there won’t be anything Jago Ross can do to take her away.”

“We’ve already set the bloody crib in the attic, I’m not putting it apart now,” Robin commented with a chuckle. “And he’s bought her Arsenal clothes, Lucy...”

“Oh Jesus...” Lucy shook her head with a smile. “Well, welcome to the club, brother.” Then her eyes travelled to the carriage as she heard Cassiopeia start fussing. “And for God’s sakes, it’s super hot today and she’s under a blasting sun, would you please take her out of her winter clothes?”

“Winter c...?” Strike looked like a deer in highlights, leaning over the carriage to check on the newborn. “I thought newborns were supposed to be extra covered?”

“Which is why you won’t put her in nappies, but you know, there’s a middle point between a beanie and gloves and covered in blankets to her eyeballs and nakedness,” Lucy was clearly amused, as her blue eyes moved to the stressed man. The waitress took their orders while Strike removed a blanket, gloves, socks, beanie, a long-sleeved thick onesie and stood with his baby in his arms in nappies, looking at Lucy questioningly.

“Okay so now...?” Lucy giggled, standing up and looking at Cassiopeia, who had woken up and stared with a light frown, all flushed. “See? She’s all flushed. Okay, what clothes have you bought her?” Lucy rummaged in the baby bag and took a thin onesie and a beanie that looked lighter than the other one and she helped Strike re-dress her, taking all her thicker clothe away and putting them in the bag in careful order. “Now you put her back in the carriage and make sure she’s in shadows, pulling the ceiling of the carriage out like this... see?”

“All right, got it,” Strike nodded.

“You can put her blankie back now that she’s better...”

“What’s the beanie for? You just said it’s really hot...”

“Yes but it’s important to protect her from the sun, do you have suncream?”

As Lucy and Strike continued to make Cassiopeia more comfortable, Robin and Ilsa exchanged amused smiles.


	4. Cassiopeia's Dad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike starts wrapping his head around fatherhood

Meals and drinks lowered onto the round table, the hungry foursome stated eating with small talk that for once didn’t revolve around the new member of the family, who had started crying hysterically until Strike had picked her up, forcing him to eat with her on his lap, on one arm, until the baby’s daddy cravings passed, shadowing her with his body and yielding her from the sun as her tiny eyes moved around the table with avid curiosity.

“Hadn’t seen you in months, how was the wedding and the honeymoon? Somewhere nice?” Lucy asked with a bright smile looking at Robin as they devoured their meals.

“Uh, yeah, it was really nice actually,” Robin smiled a little. She had pulled her sleeves up showing the long pink scar in her forearm. “Matthew and his dad had prepared a surprise honeymoon to Greece, which was pretty incredible, we had a really good time.”

Strike thanked himself in the inside for having already updated everyone on the situation with Laing and Robin, after they had seen the ad for a new secretary.

“And now you’re no longer the secretary,” Lucy looked proud. “Won’t you guys need a third pair of hands around now?”

“Oh, it’d be awesome if we could even dream to afford one,” Strike shrugged. “But Robin, you are going to get a pay rise now. Don’t think of something huge but you know... a little help in the end of the month...”

“How am I going to get a pay rise when you’re getting a second job because we’re short on income?” Robin questioned, her blue-gray eyes looking incredulous at Strike with the fork in the air.

“Well,” Strike manoeuvred the baby in his one arm to adjust her. “I’ve been doing some math mentally and I had a good salary in the SIB, and I’m still a sergeant so that’s good money. I estimate Cassiopeia and I will be off perfectly fine just with that money and a small supplement from the office so if the office pays itself and I take a couple hundred just as a small supplement, you can have everything else. Say... 65% of what we make, for you.”

“Woah,” Robin looked satisfied and nodded, even though she didn’t really care about the money, she loved her job. “That’s nice, but you know you don’t have to, right? I love my job, I’d work for free if I didn’t have to feed myself. Although it’d help so Matthew is happier with my job and you... Perhaps the day he finally gets the house he wants he’ll chill out.” Strike smiled a little, although he knew when that happened, Matthew would find something else to want, like say, the damn Audi.

“You’ve worked really hard Robin, you’ve deserved it for a long time and now you’re partner, right? It should come with a pay rise,” Strike used his napkin to clean the saliva from Cassiopeia’s mouth and took a long sip of his Doom Bar. The morning had been exhausting and he was starting to feel like taking a good nap with the baby as much as she let him, but they still had to put the crib together and all else.

“So are you going back into the SIB?” asked Ilsa behind her glasses, putting the fork down for a moment.

“I don’t know, I’ve only started thinking about it for an hour or so, I’d have to talk with some people...” Strike shrugged. “But I need a second job, even with the business getting better and better and clients incoming every day Cassiopeia’s stuff has been super expensive this morning, Robin deserves a pay rise, and I’ve got to pay the office, the attic and my own food. I could probably do without an extra job getting twice the clients and working day and night but I need to be present for Cassiopeia, right? And I need to fit sleep somewhere. The SIB would give me a level of economical relaxation very much welcomed, I could get in the reserve, which would grant me only working part-time, and that would mean maybe working five hours per day five days a week for a salary that even with the reduction of hours would be very good, spending the rest of the day doing our normal job in which Cassiopeia can accompany me and having the weekends free to be with her. I could even afford a nanny at some point.”

“A nanny?” Ilsa snorted a laugh. “Leave her with us! Come on, it’ll be training for when this one comes.” She added patting her three months old belly.

“Yeah, and when they can’t, I can keep her,” Lucy added. “The boys are going to flip when I tell them they’ve got a cousin.”

“I could... look after her in the office if you want to do surveillances without her every now and then,” Robin shrugged, looking at the newborn, who was starting to fall asleep again with a hand gripping Strike’s shirt. “I do have two younger brothers I used as dolls back in the day.” She added with a little smile.

“Well, it’s very nice of all of you,” Strike nodded with a little smile. “I’ll definitely be taking some offers then. Guess I could do the part time job in the afternoons so you guys can have her after work?”

“Great!” Ilsa chuckled. “Nick’s going to be super excited.”

“God, you two really need a child,” Lucy smiled. “Luckily, not much more waiting now uh?”

“Nope,” Ilsa beamed, leaning back in her chair. “Just a bit more... the doctor said everything is going super well, so fingers crossed.” Strike felt it before Cassiopeia started crying.

“Well, want to change her to start training?”

**. . .**

Once back in the flat, between the three they put together the crib in Strike’s attic right by the bed, a changing table, and then in the inner office Strike put the electrical bouncer he had bought. He had to empty a drawer in his attic for baby clothes and then store all the diapers in the drawers of the changing table and all the formula, baby bottles, and pacifiers in his small kitchen area, leaving a little in the kitchenette of the office just so he wouldn’t have to go up and down with things all the time. Finally, everyone went home and Strike saw himself alone with baby Cassiopeia for the first time.

“Alright,” Strike took a deep breath, moving in his small attic with the sleeping baby between his arms towards her white wooden crib, lowering the child inside of it. “Sweet dreams baby girl, I’ll be right here when you wake up.” He whispered softly. Then, looking at the baby, had a moment of thought and leaned forward, his thin lips kissing the top of the soft forehead. “We’ll pull through.” He nodded for himself, and after removing his leg, he flopped on the bed.

His dreams were filled with visions of Charlotte dying, or appearing to chastise him for putting Cassiopeia’s diapers wrong, until he woke up after what felt like a really short time to a very distressed baby crying her eyes out, her tiny arms raised up over her head.

“You know what you look like?” Strike grumbled, exhausted, as he sat in bed with Cassiopeia, bouncing her with her arms. “A mandrake. That’s what you look like,” he saw his watch and saw it was only five in the afternoon, groaning. He had only been asleep for an hour. Cassiopeia kept crying, her hair, short and dark, meandered over her entire head covering it properly and her long body huddled as she cried. Strike peeked inside the diapers to make sure they were clean and prepared a bottle of baby milk that he feed her sitting on the bed with his back against the board. “ _Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are?_ ” Strike started suddenly singing softly, remembering it was what his mum sang him, Lucy and Switch. “ _Then you show your little light, twinkle, twinkle all the night. Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are. Then the traveller in the dark thanks you for your tiny spark. How could he see where to go if you did not twinkle so? Twinkle, twinkle little star, how I wonder what you are? As your bright and tiny spark lights the traveller in the dark…_ ” Cassiopeia eventually stopped crying, accepting the baby bottle and falling asleep in a matter of seconds. Strike sighed in relief and put the kid back in her crib. Then, after a moment of thought, he pulled a small old notebook and took his favourite fountain pen and wrote:

_ CASSIOPEIA MAWES STRIKE _

_-Born: Thursday August 4th 2011 at The Egerton House Hotel in London, England, at 10:07h. Inscribed in the University College London Hospital._

_-Parents: Charlotte Elizabeth Ross (née Campbell) and Cormoran Blue Strike._

_-Stats: 3Kg 8g. 55 centimetres. Dark wavy hair and gray-ish eyes._

Strike went on writing everything he knew about the baby, from the feeding times to the napping times, lullaby song, pooping frequency. He knew he had to keep a routine, he remembered Lucy saying that routines were good for babies, and he wanted that one day Cassiopeia could know how her arrival was with the truth; that he was scared shitless and unprepared, but quickly got ahead of himself.

Then, he spent the entire tea time seeing videos about single fatherhood and newborns in YouTube, and he continued to watch them as he cooked himself some dinner, writing notes in the little notebook he always carried inside his jacket with him. In the morning, he’d go to the Royal Military Police Headquarters and see if he could get his job back. They had been begging to have him back for ages, after all.


	5. Bring your baby to work day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike and Cassiopeia's professional partnership ends up wildly.

At nine o’clock sharp on Friday Strike descended downstairs carrying a sleeping Cassiopeia in her car seat and big bags under his eyes. He entered the office like a zombie, barely reaching to grumble a ‘Good morning’ to Robin, who sat at her desk already busy with work.

“Good morning,” Robin grinned at him. “How’s the princess?”

“Oh, don’t be so naive,” said Strike as Robin ran to coo at Cassiopeia, stroking her puffy cheeks as Strike lowered the seat onto the floor. “She’s malign, like her mum. Looking all nice but then she wakes up every fucking hour crying and screaming like a mandrake.” Robin giggled standing up again and looking at her.

“Come on, you don’t mean it, meanie!” Robin went to get him some tea.

“Of course not, she’s my baby-girl and if anyone puts a hand on her for bad I will bite it off,” Strike murmured with tired eyes. Robin awed looking at him. It was so odd to see him with a baby, but also so sweet to see how he went from feared ogre to soft bear. “She has me wrapped around her finger, I’m afraid.” He added as he accepted her mug. “Aren’t you joining us?”

“I was just about to head off, we have piles of work,” said Robin putting on her coat. “But cheer up, you’re doing great, baby daddy. Paternity results coming today, isn’t it?”

“I already got the call, they sent me the results in the mail too,” said Strike looking at her all serious. Robin felt her heart drop.

“Shit, Cormoran...”

“No worries,” Strike smiled a little. “99.9% match. I’m her dad.” Robin grinned from ear to ear  and kept herself from hugging him.

“Congrats!” Strike nodded. “You don’t seem that excited.”

“News are still sinking in and I’m really freaking tired. Is all in the office diary?” he added pointing to her desk.

“Yes, all there. I put less work-load on you so you can take it easy today, because I’m a saint.” Robin giggled. Strike nodded, his lips pressed and curved upwards as he stood in the middle of the office, looking at her.

“Thank you, you’re incredible. Is anything on a hurry though? I was going to leave the little one with Lucy and go talk with the Royal Military Police. She said she only worked afternoons today so she could do it,” explained Strike.

“That’s fine, get on it when you can. Good luck, I’ll see you later cutie,” Robin added, leaning to kiss Cassiopeia’s cheek. “She gets better by the day, doesn’t she?” Strike snorted a laugh.

“I suppose?”

Strike didn’t fancy getting in London’s traffic to cross the city first to Lucy’s house in ‘fucking Bromley’ and then to the Royal Military Police Special Investigations Branch offices in London, but he fancied it much less when he was carrying a baby, soon discovering the world wasn’t made for strollers. Finally, after almost two hours since he left Denmark Street, he made it into the headquarters, where he was to meet an old friend, Major Tracey Hudson of the RMP SIB.

In a labyrinth of offices, Strike took ten minutes to find the Lieutenant’s office and, after straightening his suit, he knocked on the door and a minute later was hugging his ex-girlfriend, who he hadn’t seen in years and who now had a child and was happily married. Tracey Hudson was tall, with long dark brown hair in waves and sparkling, piercing blue eyes. She was one of the most badass women Strike had ever known.

“Jesus Christ, look at you! Pulled a few pounds, didn’t you?” Tracey smiled warmly at him and Strike shrugged.

“Not all of us can become Majors, congratulations,” said Strike. “Also congrats on the daughter,” he added pointing at a framed picture of the trio that rested on the desk. “I meant to send flowers but I’ve been busy and forgot.”

“I saw, you’re famous now,” they sat and Strike accepted an offer of warm tea, the desk separating them. “So how have you been?”

“All good... you?” Strike asked, suddenly feeling his mouth dry from nervousness and drinking from his tea. Tracey was as beautiful as he remembered her.

“Pretty well,” Tracey smiled. “What star struck us that you’re finally thinking to accept our offers and come back?”

“A daughter struck me,” Tracey’s eyes widened. “I know, it’s a long story...” Strike sighed, leaning back. “It all just happened yesterday, so I’m still grasping my mind about it.”

“What happened?” Tracey asked concerned, leaning forward with a worried expression, supporting her elbows on her knees and interlacing fingers in front of her.

“Long story short... I dated a girl for a few years, we broke up, she had taken my...” he sighed. “Sperm, thinking of making herself pregnant of me so I’d stick around for sure, she was a little mentally unstable...”

“No kidding.”

“And then when we broke up she married someone else who wasn’t good for her, and they wanted children but he couldn’t have them so she used my thing. When she realised she couldn’t let him around the baby and that what she had done was so wrong it was too late, so all she could do was beg me to take the child under my care and father it, protect it. That was yesterday, when she called saying she was giving birth... she died during birth. But I’ve got a daughter, Cassiopeia.”

“Oh, Cormoran...” Tracey leaned back, surprised. “Woah... I’m sorry for the mother but well... perhaps is better this way. I think you’ll be a great father, how’s the little one?” Strike pulled his phone and showed her a picture. Tracey grinned. “She looks like you, she’s beautiful.”

“You’re contradicting yourself,” Strike chuckled, making her laugh. He put the mobile back into his pocket.

“So you’re keeping her uh?”

“Yeah...” Strike shrugged. “I didn’t want to be a father but... I can’t give her up. And I’m not going to be like my own father. I need to stay for her and love her and care for her. Is what her mother wanted and is the only thing I could live with doing. That’s why I’m here. My business is good but just with it I’d be pretty tight on money and I need to pay a partner and one day, schooling and all. And I need a flat bigger, more appropriate for a child to grow in, where she can have a room... you know how it is.”

“Yeah... you could use a nice salary that would take some stress off your back,” Strike nodded.

“I was thinking of something part time in the reserve? Five hours from three to eight in the afternoon, so my sister and my best friends can look after her after work and I can be in my office with her in the morning, I can have her there... and weekends free. A salary as nice as possible... Can you work something out for me?” Strike asked with pleading eyes. Tracey smiled a little and nodded.

“I’d love to have you back, and I’d make you a contract right away, but I’m afraid the bosses would kick my arse Cormoran, and then yours. What you’re asking for is too... special. However, I can move some strings and get you exactly what you want in the National Crime Agency. Good money, a rank in the level of yours, and stability, working in London, rarely having to go anywhere else. What do you think?” Strike sighed, then nodded.

“It does make me happy not to have to be a soldier again... not that there’s anything wrong with it, is just...”

“You were never a hundred percent soldier and you still don’t want to be,” Tracey smiled understandingly. “It changes people.”

“Yeah...” Strike nodded, remembering his uncle’s words. The NCA would be nice, it would give him a good salary, the job was fascinating, and it was near his attic even.

Strike couldn’t stop thanking Tracey as she made some phone-calls and after half an hour, was driving him to Vauxhall Bridge Road, where the NCA offices where, and accompanying him to meet Senior General Director April Vaughan, to whom Tracey spoke long and nicely, selling him to her until she was all in and showed him his new office, a small one with a window to a small internal garden. He would be working from 2PM to 8PM from Monday to Friday and then from 7AM to 12 at noon on Saturdays, which wasn’t exactly what he wanted but it was nice enough for Strike to be infinitely grateful at both women. The pay wasn’t as nice as the SIB offered and the job was mostly office and field, but it was close to Cassiopeia, it would be interesting enough, and it was still a very decent salary, good enough for Cassiopeia and him to do well on their own and perhaps even for a new flat, more decent for the little one. And the job came with a black Volkswagen, so he couldn’t really complain, and a few different uniforms in which he had to spend some money, but he was still happy as he called Ilsa and Lucy to keep them updated for Cassiopeia’s babysitting duties.

He was cheerful to drive himself in the new car he was assigned to, towards Bromley to pick up his little girl, feeling more in control of his life than ever. He knew he would be battered working so much every day, but he also knew when he was in the office he could nap every now and then, since Robin would be taking the lead.

Car parked in front of the enormous magnolia tree, Strike entered the house with an air of triumph. Greg was at work and the children in school, so Lucy was alone, working in her laptop on the dining table with Cassiopeia awake in her lap, one firm arm around her. Lucy smiled up at him.

“Look who came back Casey, is daddy!” Lucy scooped the baby up and walked to Strike, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“How was she?” Strike smiled reaching arms to grab the baby, whose head was placed against his chest.

“She was perfect, just woke up from her nap and I was showing her the wonders of aerospace engineering,” Lucy chuckled kissing Cassiopeia’s cheek. “Cutest girl in the world, God. So how’s your new job? How was Tracey?”

“She was well, freaking saint, I owe her a huge one. I start on Monday, office job to catch up with and then some field work when needed,” He shrugged. “And I got a car, look!” he pointed through the window. Lucy was happy to see her brother so unusually excited and talkative. “No deployments, Sundays free, my salary is a dream come true. I’ll be right here in London, and during the mornings I can devote to our clients with the little one.” He kissed Cassiopeia’s big cheek. “I’m relieved like you wouldn’t believe.”

“Some people get happy with a paternity leave, you prefer twice the work, glad to see you happy,” Lucy joked with a chuckle. “Well it was a pleasure to look after this little bundle.”

“Yeah, thank you Luce... well, I should be back before Robin kills me. She’s the boss now.”

“Have fun and drive safe!”

Car seat adjusted into the middle seat in the back, Strike drove back to Denmark Street, finding a good spot right behind his block for his black car. When Strike arrived to the office, Robin was still gone in surveillance, so Strike devoted to the phone, and researching for all the investigations ongoing, taking all the points Robin had left written down in her neat handwriting:

  1. _Two-Times (Now Four-Times): Do some research on a Daphne McHoran, she works as a secretary for a company of second-hand shoes in Fulham, I’ll be there today. I think this one IS cheating, HORAH!_



Strike laughed for himself and kept reading.

  1. _Fake Blonde: She is CERTAINLY lying to her aunt. She’s off snogging her boyfriend and hanging with their friends, doing weed, in a park every day after class, NOT in the library. I left the folder on my desk, aunt will come at 12:30 for it and to do the final payment. It’s all in the folder._
  2. _Trudy Allen: Came yesterday asking us to find her biological parents, she was a stolen baby. If you could so some research, that’d be great._
  3. _Samuel Garrison: I think he definitely has an employee who’s not doing their job, but haven’t found who yet. Take a look?_
  4. _Wig: Found him stalking his ex-wife thrice already, I feel funny knowing he’s around so much. If you can, please head there and keep an eye, if not call me and I will go after Daphne._



The list went on to cover the impressive amount of fourteen clients, which made Strike feel really proud. He pulled his phone and texted Robin:

**‘At the office. Thank you for the list, I’ve got it all handled and I will check on Wig and Samuel Garrison after lunch so I have time to research before. If I find any leads on Trudy Allen’s family, will pursue. And call me Special Agent Strike now, TTY later! C x.’**

His work went on for hours, only interrupted by Cassiopeia’s cries every now and then when she got hungry or dirty and he needed to stop himself to attend her needs, and for Fake Blonde’s aunt when she came to hear what they had on the teenage daughter she was foster mother of, and they got paid nice £200. Once he had a good amount of research done and ready for Robin, he got Cassiopeia ready and went off to check on Wig, a bald man who very obviously used a wig and whose wife had hired them because after the divorce she sensed that he spied on her and, for what Robin said, this seemed true. Strike stopped for a quick lunch and got Cassiopeia settled in his car before driving through London’s impossible traffic to the opposite side of London, Chiswick. He drove down Great Chertsey Road, with its huge green trees that gave big shadows, past nice little houses with their enormous gardens without fences, and in front of a graveyard.

“Isn’t this place nice, Casey? We could get a flat here, would you like?” Strike looked into the rear-view mirror to see Cassiopeia’s little sleeping face reflected on a small mirror her chair had at the feet. “Girl, I envy your lifestyle...”

He found their client’s house soon enough, parking in the first spot he could find and putting the sleepy baby into his arms, throwing a small towel on his shoulder and supporting her cheek there as he walked to the client’s door, knocking on it.

“Ms Riley?” said Strike. “It’s Detective Cormoran Strike!” the door opened and a mid-aged woman with short blonde hair and some extra pounds opened the door, looked at him, and smiled.

“Hello Mr Strike.”

“Hi, Ms El...” he cursed to himself. “Mrs Cunliffe told me she’s seen your ex-husband around your house, I came to check, have you seen him?”

“Oh, yeah!” she nodded. “This morning, his car was parked right there in the corner, I saw him through the window. Haven’t seen him since though.”

“All right, do you have anyone you can stay with for a few days?”

“Yeah, my sister lives in a flat in Hackney, I could go there, he doesn’t know where she lives because she just moved in.”

“Good, then I want you to pack your things for a week, okay? I’m going to get in the car and keep an eye for three hours, all right? I’ll patrol around your house. You lock the door and in three hours I’ll come back to pick you up and get you to your sister’s, so you have time to pack.”

“Okay,” she nodded, and frowned. “Do you think he’s dangerous?”

“I’m not sure, but better be safe than sorry,” Strike sighed. “See you in a bit.”

Back in the car, Strike devoted to driving around for three hours, often parking and observing the house from a different angle, making sure no one entered or left the house. After three hours and with an aching ass, he scooped Casey up in his arms again and picked up Ms Riley, putting her things into his trunk and sitting back in the driver’s seat as she sat next to him. She then noticed Cassiopeia.

“Oh, you have a child?”

“Uh, yeah. She’ll behave, hopefully,” Strike drove away of the parking spot and got into the main road back downtown to find Hackney. He was just getting out of Ms Riley’s neighbourhood when Casey started fussing, judging by the little noises coming from her. “Ah, Cassiopeia baby, hold on a minute...” he kept his eyes on the road as he threw a hand back to reach the baby seat with the tips of his fingers and push it to rock a little.

“Don’t worry, I can entertain her,” Ms Riley smiled leaning back between the front seats and reaching to stroke Cassiopeia’s hair. “How old is she?”

“Uhm...” Strike turned left. “Was born yesterday morning.”

“Only? Woah, you’re just a cub little beauty,” Ms Riley smiled at the little kid and proceeded to sing a lullaby. To Strike’s surprise, Cassiopeia calmed down a little.

“Thank you, she’s probably hungry but I have no way of warming up formula right now...”

“Mum’s not around?” Ms Riley asked softly. She had slid to sit in the backseat next to Cassiopeia and was cooing at her and speaking with silly voices like Lucy and Ilsa usually did.

“She died giving birth,” Strike explained. Before the kind woman could feel sorry, he added: “We weren’t together. She was my ex-fiancée. We were poison for each other but I promised to care for our girl and that’s what I’m trying to do.”

“You’re a good man, Mr Strike,” the woman said with a soft smile. Strike sighed and nodded for himself.

“I try. Don’t quite know what I’m doing most of the time though, I never wanted children, I was never prepared... I didn’t even know she was expecting until she was giving birth, she got pregnant right before we broke up, she was married to someone else.”

“Well Mr Strike... as a mother of two incredible boys who are now well out of home, I can just say that parenting is not knowing the hell you’re doing most of the time, but loving them so much there’s nothing you want to do more than figuring out. And one day they leave the nest and you’re surprised to find out you actually did well. As long as there’s love, that’s all you need.” She smiled down at Cassiopeia, who was making squeaky noises. “God she’s so cute!” Strike smiled to himself. He didn’t see the car coming.


	6. Encounter with a Campbell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Strike's life gets a little trickier.

Claxons echoed and Strike groaned as he took off the seat-belt, blinking and feeling the headache from how he had collided with his right temple against the window. The other car had smashed the corner of the co-driver’s seat, and as he blinked looking around he registered Cassiopeia’s hysterical crying.

“Casey...” he murmured. “Cassiopeia! Casey!” Strike felt as if he suddenly had woken up, his mind filling with worry and his heart clenching painfully as he tried to reach the baby.

“She’s fine!” Ms Riley assured. “She’s okay!”

Strike yanked the door of the car open and got out, looking around. There was people standing around looking shocked, his car had been thrown into the opposite side of the road and luckily no other cars had collided with them. It had been a hit-and-run and Strike was sure it had been Ms Riley’s ex-husband, her stalker, Wig. He had thought to get a glimpse of him driving towards them for one split of a second.

“We’ve called an ambulance, sir, don’t worry!” a man came running to him, putting a hand on his shoulder for comfort. “You should sit down sir, you’re bleeding.”

“Get your hands off me,” Strike grumbled taking a deep breath and yanking open the door of the back seat. Ms Ripley was leaning over Cassiopeia whispering nothings to comfort her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, there’s blood on your head Mr Strike!”

“I’m fine... Casey honey, come here,” Strike undid the belt and took the baby in his arms and out of the car. Ms Ripley joined him outside and they walked to the crosswalk. Strike hugged the baby to his chest and kissed her forehead. “It’s okay baby girl, you’re alright, we’re all good.” Strike kept looking at Cassiopeia, moving her sleeves to ensure she was okay. The front had taken most of the bump and she was in the middle seat in the back in a very good baby seat, so she should be all right. “Ms Ripley, you grab a taxi and go to your sister’s, okay? Call me or the office when you’re there.”

“But Mr Strike, I can’t leave you like this...” she fussed around, worried. Police had arrived.

“You need to go, now. We’re all right, I’ll talk with the police, don’t worry. And it’s a company car; I’ll have a new one on Monday.”

“But...”

“Now, please, go somewhere safe.” Strike stopped a taxi and opened the door. “Text me the address and I’ll have my partner drive your belongings to you later today.”

“Cormoran Blue Strike can it be known why the fuck you’re not picking up your phone? I was worried sick!” was the first thing Strike heard an hour and a half later, as he entered the office with Cassiopeia’s car seat hung from one arm and the other wrapping the baby to his chest. As he turned around after closing the door behind him, Robin got a good look at him and her blue-gray eyes widened. “Oh my God! What happened? Is Cassiopeia...?”

“She’s all right, according to the paediatrician,” Strike grumbled leaving the car seat aside and flopping on the sofa, bringing the baby closer to his chest, taking a peak to make sure she was all right, her small eyelids with long lashes closed and her lips forming a small pout, her cheeks still pink from crying so hard. Strike leaned back taking a long breath, calming himself as he looked at the child. He was still shaking from a kind of anxiety and fear he had never felt before upon the possibility of that baby being hurt.

“Cormoran,” Robin had flopped next to him on the sofa, tucking a leg under herself to turn and face him with her whole body, a hand on his knee. Her kind expression scrutinised him with worry and her voice sounded soft, sweet and healing. Strike appreciated her company immensely in the moment. She should be home to Matthew. “What happened? You’ve got stitches in your temple,”

“I got a car at work and was driving Ms Ripley to her sister’s flat in Hackney. You were right, her ex-husband has been creeping around, he’s fucking dangerous... he collided his car with mine. Ms Ripley is okay at her sister’s now, and we’re okay now too. The car is downstairs, could you pick her things up from the trunk and get them to her, since you’ve got your Land Rover right here?”

“Of course,” Robin nodded, frowning lightly. “Fuck...”

“Wig’s been arrested, I spoke to the police and told them everything and they found his car all battered and coincided with the descriptions witnesses had of the car that hit us.”

“One good news. Does your head hurt much? You must have a concussion...”

“I’m fine, tough skull,” Strike pressed his lips against Cassiopeia’s forehead, baby scent filling his nostrils. “I almost got a stroke just from thinking she was hurt...”

“Welcome to parenthood,” Robin smiled sadly and her hand reached to caress the back of the baby. “She’s a tough girl, I know where she gets it from.” Strike smiled at her. “Not you, the badass mum who birthed her in a bathtub of course.” She added jokingly with a smirk. He snorted a laugh, feeling loads better.

“What are you doing here so late?” Strike whispered.

“I couldn’t go home without knowing you two were okay,” answered her, warming his heart up. “I’m not exaggerating, I called like twenty-six times. Left tons of messages.” Strike pulled his mobile from his pocket and saw twenty-nine missing calls from Robin and thirty-two texts, also from her, that went from a soft ‘Just got in the office, how’s it going?’ to a panicked ‘WHERE ARE YOU, PICK UP YOUR FUCKING PHONE, IS CASSIOPEIA ALL RIGHT?!!!’

“I’m sorry Robin,” Strike sighed, looking at her tiredly.

“No, it’s all g...”

“No...” Strike supported his head on the back of the sofa, on which Robin had an elbow, her head against her hand. “I fired you telling you tons of unnecessarily cruel things you didn’t deserve, I never RSVP for your wedding, I interrupted your wedding, I threw things down, and now you’ve got to take an enormous workload all on your own for a miserable pay rise just because my personal life got too complicated for mixing up with the wrong people. None of this is your fault and yet...” he shrugged. “I feel you’re the one taking the worst part of it. You shouldn’t even be in the office a Friday at...” he checked his watch. “Seven thirty in the afternoon. And when you get home and Matthew’s furious at you, that’s my fault. You’re working far too much, far too hard, far too alone and not for half of what you deserve. I’m sorry. This is all my fucking fault and you deserve better, I know you do.” Robin smiled softly at him, her lips pressing and curving very slightly.

“Are you done with the pity party?” Strike raised his eyebrows. “Cormoran, I work the job of my life all thanks to you, I do the things I love every day all day long, this is hardly a job. I earned your shouting, and I’m super happy you interrupted my wedding and threw things around, and my salary is just perfect and my husband can shove his complains up his own arse,” she said it so softly and sweetly Strike giggled. “He works a ton too and he’s married to this beauty, what does he have to complain about?” she added with a smirk pointing at herself. “And you know what? I actually kind of admire you, Mr Strike.”

“’Cause I can drink two cups of wine and not get pissed?” he joked raising an eyebrow. She giggled.

“Yes but also because you never get shitty situations overpower you, you always get things by the handle no matter how difficult it gets. You stayed here when he agency was sinking and you had not a penny, you slept in your office without making a pity party or sending death threats to Charlotte like our clients do,” Strike smiled a little. “And now... you never wanted this child, you never moved a finger to have it, but you’re taking care of it because it’s the only way you’d have things happen, and even if you never had one man stay and be your father, you’re doing it for her because you want her to have it better than you. And you’re going to be working 24/7 just so she can have everything you didn’t have, and you love her so much already, I can see...” her eyes got glassy and she smiled looking down at Cassiopeia.

“I guess I do love her, don’t I?” Strike looked down at the little creature snoring against his chest.

“She’s so lucky to have you,” said Robin, making Strike snort. Robin looked challenging at him. “So give us the kid, haven’t held her yet.”

“You wanna hold her?” Strike asked raising eyebrows, surprised.

“Sure thing, come on,” she gestured with her hands and carefully, Cassiopeia was passed to Robin’s arms, where she stirred in all her 55cm, her tiny hand stroking her cheek. “Aww she’s adorable! Hi you!” Robin’s pitch had gotten an octave higher and Cassiopeia opened her eyes slightly, looking at her without much enthusiasm. “You know what? She’s definitely yours. Look at that, she’s yours.” Robin laughed and Strike grinned, looking at them. It was definitely sweet to see Robin, usually so formal, cooing and making faces and noises at the little thing in her arms, that squealed and looked attentive, far more sociable than her father had ever been. “Now, tell me about your new job!”

**. . .**

On Saturday Strike woke up feeling the full extent of his head wound, grunting and hating not having had a proper night of sleep since Cassiopeia was born. She had been waking him up every hour and he was close to losing it, but now she seemed to be asleep, so he rolled, dying to spend the entire day in bed, and then groaned when the doorbell rang. Strike groaned, sitting up in bed and looking at the offending door with angry eyes.

 “Who is it?”

“It’s Elizabeth Campbell,” Strike’s eyes shot wide open and he hurried to put on the prosthetic and grab his house coat, that he rarely used, wrapping it around himself firmly before opening the door to reveal a woman in her early sixties, with white hair short to her shoulders, sad cold eyes behind glasses, and the fanciest wear.

“Mrs Campbell, good morning,” Charlotte had never liked her mother, they had never gotten along, and Strike had disliked her mostly out of empathy but also knowing she had been a crappy mother who never seemed to care much about her daughter and, seeing how Charlotte had turned out to be, he believed it. “What do I owe the pleasure?” he asked almost sarcastically, knowing she didn’t like him much either.

“Today I bury my only child. My son-in-law is facing charges of domestic abuse and causing a huge scandal in the community of socialites, and I heard I’ve got a granddaughter. I was hoping,” Mrs Campbell spoke with education, in a cold and distant manner, pronouncing her words with a neutral accent. “That you’d come begging me to take her in, at the end, you’ve got no idea about children and...” she looked with judgemental eyes into the attic under Strike’s arm, extended to hold onto the doorframe. “Calling your place a home wouldn’t be appropriate. But you never came, so I’ve come to pick her up myself. I’ll take care of my granddaughter, she’ll enjoy a beautiful room in my manor, she’ll go to the best schools and have all she could ever dream of, everything she needs.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” said Strike, glaring at the woman, almost as tall as he was. “That girl is my daughter, a DNA test, along with Charlotte’s testimony and the pure observation of her can be proof enough, and I will give her everything she needs in life, starting by my unconditional love and support, a true loving, caring family, and schools full of great classmates to befriend, holidays in Cornish beaches and plenty of female role models to worship. We don’t need you or your money, thank you very much.”

“I demand to see my granddaughter.” The woman said firmly. “At least see her a few times a week, like right now. She deserves to have a grandmother.”

“I agree, and she’s got one perfectly good grandmother, only that she’s dead, but still she’s got a splendid grandaunt to love her and care for her,” said Strike. “And you demand nothing. Charlotte never got along with you, I never got along with you, Charlotte only had bad shit to say about you and how you raised her, which proves that you’d be a terrible influence for our daughter, and on top of it all, I’ve got a written document by your daughter stating, and I quote,” Strike closed the door and opened it a moment later holding the stapled documents Charlotte had handwritten and signed. He read. “It is my only wish that mine and Mr Strike’s daughter is raised far from my husband, Mr Jago Ross, and from any member of my family, since I’ve got no close relationship with any of them. I wish for her to be cared for by her father, Cormoran Strike, and for his family and close friends to be close to our daughter as well, in hopes that this way she will always have a group of people that love her unconditionally and care for her as much as I wish I could do. I don’t see how I could ever be a good mother for our baby and therefore, I give up my parental rights and concede Mr Strike full custody and care of our child.” Strike looked up at Mrs Campbell, who clenched her jaw and glared at her.

“This won’t stay like this. I will sue you, you will regret this.”

“This is an official document signed by your daughter herself, a lawyer and myself. The social worker has a copy of it, so does my own lawyer. Your daughter intended to live on to be Mrs Ross and she dreamed of one day divorcing Mr Ross, the only moment in which she’d even contemplate the idea of being present for her daughter. There is no wish in these ten pages of document, to have you in our daughter’s life,” said Strike calmly. “So sue away, Mrs Campbell. You can’t buy my daughter’s love with money. And you’ve got not one witness to say Charlotte ever loved you. Now, I give you my condolences for your daughter’s death, she was a good person deep inside. If you’d excuse me, I’m a very busy father, have a good day.” He shut the door close in her face and locked it before putting the paper back in its folder on a shelf and going to the crib, leaning over to observe Cassiopeia.

The newborn was in her little sleeping sack, her tiny arms stretched framing her face with her hands in small fistfuls and her legs bent and separated open, the soles of her feet almost touching. Strike smiled a little feeling foreign warmth inside as one of his fingers stroke the soft skin of Cassiopeia’s left leg. Her tiny tongue peeked between her lips and then went back inside.

“You sleep, little poppet. Daddy’s got you,” said Strike softly, leaning to kiss her forehead. Checking his watch, he saw it was already late morning and his uncle and aunt, who had arrived to London in the night to meet Cassiopeia and were sleeping at Lucy’s, would be waiting impatiently for him to have lunch with them at Lucy and Greg’s. Fortunately, Ilsa, whose mother was best friends of Joan Strike and therefore they were close, was also coming, with Nick, so things woul be more entertaining. “All right poppet, daddy’s got to shower, but be right back.”

He made the shower exceptionally short, shaved and put a dressing over his stitched up temple, trying for his hair to cover it. He put on a clean shirt and trousers, with a thin suit jacket, and had a cup of tea and biscuits while preparing Cassiopeia’s bag, that was of a light gray colour, putting in a couple of baby bottles he had just taken out of the dishwasher, the formula, a couple changes of clothes, a blanket, and eight diapers. He checked his baby notebook to make sure he had the feedings controlled and enough diapers for the amount of uses she was doing of them, and put the baby bag in the space available under the beige stroller. Then Strike went to Cassiopeia’s drawer and pulled out a short-sleeved onesie that said ‘Hello World’ appropriate for the family reunion. He felt exhausted and yawned as he grabbed a small white summer hat.

“Come on baby girl, we need to prepare you and go see Auntie Joan and Uncle Ted,” Strike carefully took Cassiopeia from the crib, seeing as she was awake, and once she was all naked and in clean diapers, she covered her in sun-cream from head to toe before putting on her clothes and little hat and placing her inside the stroller. He grabbed his wallet and keys and was just grabbing his phone when it vibrated. “Robin, good morning, don’t tell me you’re in the office on a Saturday.”

“I wish,” Robin said against his ear. “Matthew’s boss called him to do extra hours on a Saturday and of course he flew out because he really wants the damn promotion so I’m alone and bored, wanna have lunch together? I miss my new best-buddy and I can bring Thai.” Strike smiled, feeling warm inside.

“I’ve got another proposition,” said Strike. “Want to meet my uncle and aunt? They just arrived last night and we have family lunch at Lucy’s with Nick and Ilsa’s so they can meet Casey. It’d be nice to have you there, and the little one already looks bored and we haven’t even left the building yet.” Robin giggled softly against his ear, his stomach flipping.

“I’d love to. Are you coming down? I’m parked at the door.”

“You’re here already?”

“I was hoping you couldn’t say no if I was already here. Haven’t bought the Thai yet thought.”

“Damn, you’re good. Be down in a moment, I was just getting outside the attic. See you,” Strike smiled stupidly and looked at Cassiopeia, who was yawning in her stroller. “Ready to see Auntie Robin?”


	7. Family reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Discussing Cassiopeia's upbringing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, sorry for the lack of posting, my summer's hectic and I just got a wrist injury and using the computer has gotten a little tricky.

“What a dickhead,” said Robin as she pushed the stroller, walking alongside Strike from the parked Land Rover to the magnolia tree just a few meters ahead. Strike had just told her about Mrs Campbell as he smoked a fag making sure to aim his smoke far from the girls. “Thank God Charlotte was on point this time uh?”

“Yeah,” he blew the smoke away. “So how pissed are you at Matthew?” he added with a little smirk. Robin smiled vaguely and shook her head. She was wearing a pretty blouse under the intense sun, a skirt and elegant sandals with a bit of heel, and her eyes frequently moved to the baby, a hand adjusting her blanket every now and then.

“I would’ve liked to spend the day with him but these plans are pretty good and to be honest...” she shrugged. “I’m not going to be a hypocrite, I work a lot too. So not that pissed.”

“Good,” Strike nodded. “You’ll like Ted. He’s me with thirty years more.” Robin laughed and nodded.

“Noted.”

They entered the house and were warmly welcomed by Lucy, who cooed at the sleeping baby too, and led into the big back garden, were they sat for lunch with everyone else. Ilsa beamed kissing them both on the cheek and Joan and Ted gave Strike tight hugs and shook Robin’s hand before paying all their attention to Cassiopeia.

“What’s her name again?” asked Ted, his belly falling over his belt and his gray hair abundant and curly, like Strike’s, as he leaned to look at the baby through his glasses.

“Cassiopeia,” Strike answered.

“Mawes,” Nick coughed out. Ilsa rolled eyes and placed a hand behind Nick’s neck, caressing his hair.

“Well she sure is very pretty,” Joan smiled at the baby. “Really reminds me of Lucy as a baby.”

“Me?” Lucy smiled excitedly. “To me she looks like mum though.”

“Yeah, there’s definitely my sister’s nose, Cormoran’s cheeks...” Ted nodded, satisfied. “Definitely a Strike. And she looks healthy, well done Cormoran.” He flopped on a chair next to Strike and patted his shoulder.

Strike’s nephews, Simon, Jack and Peter, came running to greet his uncle and mostly their new cousin, crowding around the stroller.

“She’s pretty!” Peter, the youngest, commented, his tiny arms barely reaching the top of the stroller as he tiptoed.

“She looks like a mandrake,” Jack commented, and Strike snorted into his Doom Bar.

“She’s so big,” added Simon, the eldest. “Can she play football with us one day?”

“Sure,” Strike shrugged. “She does kick like a pro.”

“Come on boys, step back, don’t wake her up,” Lucy urged coming behind them. Jack then turned and saw Robin, who sat on the other side of Strike.

“Hi,” he smiled, a smaller version of Lucy’s eyes scrutinising her. “I’m Jack. Who are you?” Robin smiled.

“I’m Robin, I work with your uncle.”

“Are you his girlfriend? ‘Cause they tend to s...”

“Pete!” Greg told off. Robin chuckled and showed off her wedding band.

“I’m afraid not, but I’m his friend.”

“Cool,” Simon smiled innocently and looked at his dad. “Can we play ball?”

The three boys ran off to play football in the opposite corner of the garden, far from Cassiopeia’s stroller. Ten minutes later, food was brought to the table and Strike had Cassiopeia in his arms, giving her a baby bottle that she sucked on eagerly. He had just informed them of Mrs Campbell’s intentions of taking the child away.

“Well the law’s in your favour,” said Ilsa calmly. “So don’t worry.”

“The only thing that worries me is that she will still try and I’m too busy and sleep deprived to deal with it,” Strike sighed, looking down at Cassiopeia. “Crossing fingers this one is Strike inside and out and I don’t have to deal with Campbell’s moods and arrogance because otherwise I might shoot myself.”

“Are you going to the funeral then?” Joan asked looking caringly at her nephew over her meal.

“It pisses me off that her funeral is going to be full of people who don’t give a shit about her, so I want to...” Strike shrugged. “But I don’t want to get into family drama and argue more with anyone so I’ll wait and go tomorrow, pay my respects, bring flowers... but I’m not getting this one any closer to that family, they’re all bloody toxic.”

“What happened to your temple?” Nick asked, suddenly noticing the bandage under his hair. “Don’t tell me an old lady punched you...”

“No, it’s nothing,” Strike brushed off. “Just a scratch.” His eyes were fixed on Cassiopeia’s face so he didn’t notice the eyes on him until Robin gave him a light elbow and he looked up. Questioning eyes pierced him and he sighed. “Fine, I accidentally hit the glass of my brand new car from the SIB, I was driving a client home and her crazy ex-husband went after us and collided, but it wasn’t that bad, I just hit my head with the window.”

“Jesus Christ,” Joan frowned, grabbing Strike’s chin softly with her arm extended in front of Ted and raising his head so she could see. “You could have a concussion, did you have it checked at the hospital?”

“Yes, I had to bring this one too because I over-worried, and I’m fine. That was yesterday, I already slept it off.”

Strike managed to dodge any complicated topics and only have to give explanations about the NCA during the entire lunch and when Lucy sensed he was falling asleep, she sent him to the guest room to sleep, about what Strike couldn’t exactly complain. He had never felt so drained in his life and Cassiopeia had plenty of people to look after her while he closed his eyes for five minutes.

However he hadn’t been gone for half an hour when Cassiopeia started wailing, so Joan took her in her arms and the baby slowly calmed down, her head turning seemingly looking for Strike, her little eyes still teary.

“Oh you little sunshine, daddy will be back later okay?” Joan smiled at the baby cradling her between her arms and using her thumb to wash her cheek away.

“Perhaps her nappies are dirty,” Ted suggested.

“No, they’re clean,” Joan checked, and smiled down at the baby’s serious face.

“So you weren’t in the car accident?” Lucy asked Robin beside her, turning to face her. Robin shook her head.

“I was with other clients, I sent him to check on the client in question because I had seen the ex-husband around her and I felt odd about it, so just to be safe. And he considered it was better to take the woman to a relative’s house, which is when they had the... altercation. But he’s fine, I saw him afterwards and he was all good, both of them,” Robin assured, wanting to help Strike out in his attempts of keeping his sister off is back. “They arrested the guy already and all. Some clients are just... complicated.”

“So the business is going good uh?” asked Ted with avid interest, looking warmly at Robin. “You’re taking over now?”

“Kinda,” Robin smiled a little. “Until Cormoran doesn’t have to work two jobs at least. We have many clients and a waiting list, so it’s pretty good, and he’s taught me well for over a year so I can do this just fine. He’s there in the mornings to help out if I need anything anyway.”

“Well the army pays really well, thank Lord, when one’s a sergeant. They’ll be off just fine, and he’s a fast learner,” Ted nodded satisfied.

“And now we know what to gift him for his birthday, babysitting vouchers,” Nick added jokingly with a smirk.

“God, she’s so tiny...” Joan kissed the top of Cassiopeia’s head. “Large though, but only... two days old, is it?”

“Yeah,” Ilsa nodded.

“So Charlotte’s dead,” Ted raised his eyebrows and shrugged. “Can’t say I’m sad. She would’ve been a terrible influence for Cassiopeia.”

“That bad?” Robin asked with a small frown. Nick puffed.

“You’ve got no idea,” said Nick.

“Cassiopeia would be lying as a first language before she knew how to crawl,” said Greg, Lucy’s husband, who sat next to her. “No mother is better than that bitch, she talked shit about our boys in disgusting ways.” Lucy sighed.

“Although that’s true,” said Lucy. “I don’t know... Stick did say Charlotte seemed changed, that she did a tremendous job birthing the little nugget and she even gave her to him just to protect her, which seems very mature for her... perhaps she did change, perhaps she would’ve been a good mother. I mean look at Stick, no one can even attempt to hide the surprise that he’s a father, but he’s doing a great job, better than I think no one imagined. Children change people.”

“I would never trust it with that monster,” Joan shook her head, caressing Cassiopeia’s cheek with one finger. Luckily the day was rather cloudy so she was more shadowed from the sun. “But well, you could be right. Cormoran is being surprising.”

The sound of Simon shouting ‘goal!’ echoed in the garden as a soft breeze arrived, making Joan wrap Cassiopeia’s blanket tighter around her as Robin looked at the group while she ate the desert Lucy had so attentively prepared. Ice-Cream in August felt like a holiday after twelve months without one, glorious. She was observant of Strike’s family and best friends, his circle, the people he had trusted to care for Cassiopeia as if she was their own, each somewhat different from the other, each a unique person, and yet all hated Charlotte more or less the same. Robin hadn’t been present during the Charlotte years, so she had it hard to imagine how she was so bad some would judge her better dead than mothering Cassiopeia. And all of them were as surprised as Robin herself with the newly discovered paternal side of Strike.

“He was freaking out about Casey yesterday,” Robin murmured before she could control herself. She hadn’t meant to say it, she was just thinking about it, and she was initially surprised to hear her voice. Seeing the questioning eyes on her, she shrugged. “With the car thing. He said she had been crying a lot so he had taken her to the hospital and all. I think it had just struck him, how she’s actually his daughter and how he actually really cares, he was all worried something might be wrong with her.” Lucy smiled a little.

“Wait until she starts walking and has the first face on the floor, that’s a freak-out moment in capital letters,” said Lucy mischievously.

“And it happens to every child. Is unavoidable.” Added Greg with a nod.

They were just passionately talking about Cornwall when Strike came outside after a nap of an hour and a half long, looking about just as tired but with his curls a bit more unruly and his shirt less ironed. Cassiopeia was by then back in her stroller, asleep by Strike’s empty chair. Her father approached her with his sullen crossness’ expression relaxing as he peeked into the stroller and saw the sleeping baby, adjusting the blanket around her.

“Did you sleep well dear?” Joan asked Strike softly, patting his leg with a hand.

“Yeah, tomorrow we’ll try and spend the day in bed. Furthermore, if you guys could spend the day with her I’d be eternally grateful,” Strike looked at his aunt and uncle, who nodded with knowing smiles. “I’ve got to be ready for work on Monday, it’s going to be a long week. Casey, you need to eat girl,” he added in the softest of voices peeking inside the stroller to see if she’d wake up.

“Oh, leave her alone, she’ll cry again,” Nick intervened. “You don’t like being woken up, imagine that one.”

“Well it’s three thirty, half an hour past her feeding time already, so I’m not waiting any longer,” Strike checked his watch before going to grab the baby bottle and formula and heading to the kitchen. He came back a while later with a made up baby bottle that he settled on the table while he neatly put everything back into the baby bag and grabbed Cassiopeia. “I’ve got to go to the funeral after this, would you mind keeping her Luce?”

“Totes fine,” Lucy nodded. “One of us does love spending time with their nephews or nieces...” she added raising eyebrows suggestively.

“When you see how nicely I do with my daughter’s friends one day, you’ll see why your sons are better spending less time with me,” grumbled Strike sitting down with the sleeping child, who instead of waking up just snuggled closer to his shirt.

“Want me to give you a ride?” asked Robin. “Matthew just texted me he’s on his way home so I was going to go anyway.”

“If you don’t mind, that’d be great, thank you,” The curve of his lip raised up a little. “Come on poppet, you’re hungry and we both know it... hey, what’s the deal for Monday then? Herberts, you take it?”

“I can pick her up at two thirty, give or take, on my way back from work,” said Ilsa with a nod.

“Perfect, I’ll be back to pick her up around nine, get out of work at eight, but traffic and stuff, you know,” Strike shrugged. “I’m sorry it’ll be so late.”

“No problem, we’ll be awake,” said Nick. “Are you going to baptise her? Because dibs on godfather.”

“Baptise her?” Strike’s eyebrows rose and eyes widened, caught like a deer on highlights. “Shit, I forgot I have to decide those things, right?”

“And whether to pierce her ears or not, eventually even if you’ll tell her the truth about her mother or a compassionate lie,” added Ilsa with a nod.

“Okay well...” Strike looked down a Cassiopeia, whose lips were finally moving to accept the baby bottle he had planted near them, her eyes opening as if smelling food. “Why baptise her? I curse like a madman, and I carry a gun at work, I’m not going to worry about taking her to Church, teaching her the Bible, or anything like that, I don’t have time nor money nor will, honestly. If she wants to associate to a religion, she can do it when she’s twenty-one,” Strike shrugged. “Seriously, I don’t even believe in those things, I’d laugh unavoidably whenever she asked me Bible stuff. I’ll just teach her to be a good, kind person, kneel boys in the groin if they get too close, and be a fierce feminist or whatever girls are supposed to be these days. And no piercing her ears, are you nuts? Look at these beautiful ears, I’m not some brute stabbing my daughter’s ears!” Ilsa couldn’t do more than laugh.


	8. Mourning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two sulky souls get together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Thank you so much for your reviews. My wrist is doing better, and I am always thankful and blessed to get reviews and see what all of you think. If you wish to, I have a tumblr (https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/) where I often talk about my fics, or post content fandom related, if you want to check it or talk to me there, feel free!  
> Hugs!

Brompton Graveyard was big and half-savage, a curious choice for the Campbells, and Strike awaited patiently hidden behind tall plants, leafy trees and robust bushes, walking between the graves, until the funeral ended and he could finally approach Charlotte’s grave, next to her father’s in the family grave. He adjusted his tie and left a big bouquet of flowers on top of the grave. Only a couple more bouquets sat beside it, despite how crowded the funeral had been. Strike stood in front of the grave with his habitual expression of sullen crossness, not quite knowing what to say or do, and frowning lightly. He was there mostly for Cassiopeia, but he wasn’t one to visit graveyards much.

Sixteen years together fell on his shoulders suddenly, like a bucket of cold water, and surprisingly, it wasn’t the fights, the shouting, the discussions, that filled his mind and angered his heart once more. What came into his mind, as he closed his eyes, was as if the best moments of Charlotte and he’s relationship passed through his mind at the speed of lighting like a film, from their first kiss when he was nineteen at that party, his hands cupping her face and her fingers buried in his hair, that now raised with chills as if he could feel her again, her other arm around his neck. The many times she called him ‘Bluey’ as she woke him up with kisses and made him feel so loved, so wanted, so needed, so important. Perhaps he hadn’t dated her because he wanted to safe her, but because she had made him feel so necessary in her life, so important... and among the thousands of kisses, hugs, orgasms, laughs... that all of the sudden overcrowded his mind until he could almost hear her laughter and incredible sense of humour and feel her lips against his own, he saw it clearly in his head. The last push, Cassiopeia’s cries echoing in the air, Charlotte’s beaming grin as he lifted the baby looking at her with panicked eyes and moved one hand to hold hers, giving her a gentle squeeze as he said ‘Congrats mum’ and then her eyes closed, and her hand felt cold and dead in his own.

Strike’s eyes opened full of tears and one slid down his cheek. He sat on a grave in front of hers and his eyes fixed on the name engraved on the stone, feeling his heart clench painfully.

“You’ve been a pain in the ass and I’m pretty sure you’ve ruined me, you crazy woman...” Strike murmured hoarsely. “We would’ve been terrible parents together...” another tear fell down his cheeks and he sniffled and then laughed, thinking how she would’ve said ‘oh, don’t make me puke’. “You know what? You’ve been the greatest adventure of my life, Charlotte. And for our daughter, I’m going to choose to tell her only the best of you and choose that it was true, not lies. I’ll tell her you made me laugh like nobody else, that when I lost my leg and I felt my worst you came, and you kissed me and you took care of me and paid for the business that now feeds her, that we liked to stay in bed and get drunk and have the best sex... and that your lips were soft and your hugs were warm, and when you told me you loved me I believed you,” his voice started breaking as more tears came into his eyes. “I’ll tell her what hurts the most is not knowing if you ever really gave a shit, if there was a single truth in sixteen years, if our thing can be called love... and that you left without giving me more closure than an apologize and a baby. I can’t put a name to what you’ve done to me, Charlotte... I can’t say I’d wish you never happened nor that you were hell, and I can’t say that you’ve been the best thing to ever happen to me or that I loved you like crazy. But I can say you mean so much to me, both good and bad, that I feel so, so intensely for you it’s overwhelming,” he rubbed his eyes. “I can say I really cared for you, arsehole... and even when you hated yourself, I managed to see the good, just like my mum did with people. I believe there was some good... and I thank you for the moments you let me see it. I’ll tell our little girl all about how you bravely pushed her out and did everything for her, and I’ll tell her that you were a human being that fucked up badly like everyone else, but that at least, you loved her like no one else and you tried your best for her. I accept your apologise, Charlotte,” he added, talking between sobs with a hoarse broken voice. “And I’m going to pray she gets your laughter and your ease to make me laugh my arse off. I’m going to tell her you meant the world to me, in all the wrong and good ways... and that sometimes, I still miss you. And I’m going to love her. I’m going to be the best dad I can be and I’m going to care for her and be her everything... I hope wherever you are, you’re looking after her too. Thank you for everything, girl... I’ll see you in hell one day.” He took a deep breath and stood up, rubbing his face with both hands and breathing deep again. “You motherfucker, you managed to have my crying my eyes out for you in the end, uh?” he smiled fondly at the grave. “Rest in peace, Charlotte Campbell. And wherever you are, I hope you put it all upside down just how you’ve done with me. You made my life really interesting.”

With a head down and feeling all kinds of emotions overwhelm his insides, feeling such a range of things he hadn’t felt since his mother died, he realised that now that Charlotte was gone he didn’t feel the kind of relief he would’ve supposed he’d feel. He was sad. Genuinely sad.

Strike walked slowly back to Lucy’s and, when his sister, uncle and aunt, saw him so crestfallen and tired, despite how hard he had tried to look better, they convinced him to leave Cassiopeia there and pick her up the next day, have dinner with them, and go home with her. This seemed reasonable for Strike, since he would otherwise spend another bad night just to get her back to them in the morning to spend the day with his uncle and aunt, and this way he could take the night and Sunday to rest and recover a little before the terrible week ahead of him began. So he went back to his flat as the night arrived, and picked up the mail. He was just doing that –they seemed not to have done it in days, for the amount of letters they had- when he noticed a big folder with Charlotte’s handwriting saying ‘For our little girl and Cormoran. Let me do this for you and ensure your life together is good.’

With curiosity, he opened it up and almost had a heart attack upon discovering up to thirty thousand pounds in banknotes of £500. It was a small note inside that did the math for him, signed by Charlotte and in her handwriting: ‘I wish I could do so much more for her, but I hope this helps you a little. I know your economic situation isn’t ideal but that you will try your best, and I wanted to find a way to help you and make this easier for you two. Please, make sure she has all the love and kindness I didn’t have and the home without debts you didn’t have. Love, Charlotte.’

Once he had assimilated the initial shock and silently thanked Charlotte –even if he knew Cassiopeia would cost much more than that, but he supposed it was as much as Charlotte could take without her husband making a huge deal about it-, he climbed up the stairs to his attic in the third landing and, to his surprise, found himself in front of Robin, who was sitting at the top of the stairs with both feet on the same step as her arse and her head thrown back against the wall, silent tears travelling down her cheek. She looked at Strike and emitted a silent sob and Strike realised then there were two suitcases and a few bags on the landing. He flopped on the step next to her and put a hand on her knee, squeezing gently.

“What’s life done to you?” Robin asked tearfully, seeing how crestfallen he was. That made him smile a little, warm inside that she’d notice so easily, since he had improved his aspect on the way back to the flat.

“It took away two of the most meaningful women of my life,” he grumbled. “What’s life done to you?” Robin shrugged briefly.

“It made my husband a cheater by definition.”

“Oh, no...” he murmured, crooking his head and frowning. “That tosser...” Robin smiled small.

“I went to pick him up and,” she hiccupped, her voice hoarse. “I was early, so I asked in reception where he was, went to surprise him in his office. Turns out I was the one surprised. He was balls deep in fucking Sarah, on his desk. He tried to deny it, the wanker...”

“What did you do?”

“I slapped him so hard my hand still hurts, called Sarah a whore, shouted so hard what he had done I’m pretty sure the entire office heard, asked for a divorce, and shouted he was the biggest piece of crap in England and that I was glad I no longer had to be married to such a poor excuse of a human being and have his shitty surname. Went home, packed my things, didn’t know where to fall dead and the office was closed so...” she shrugged. “I came to bug you.”

“I’m your partner, so we suffer together or don’t suffer at all,” Strike got up and offered her a hand. “I’ve got an entire bottle of wine with your name on it and babysitter.” He commented rising his eyebrows. Robin smiled, taking his hand and using it to get up.

“Bring it on.”

Ten minutes later Robin sat barefoot with her back supported on the head of his bed as she watched a bad movie on TV with a bottle of wine open in her hand. Strike joined her with a Doom Bar, flopping down next to her, removing his leg, and handing her an envelope. Robin raised her eyebrow and saw there were two monkeys inside that Strike had grabbed from Charlotte’s money, now stored in the depths of his underwear drawer.

“I can’t accept all this money, Cormoran...” she slurred, holding the thousand pounds in her hand.

“Oh, come on, don’t be such a polite arse,” Strike rolled eyes and took a long sip from his beer. “Look, the NCA,” he had told her about her new job in the car, “is going to pay me so well I can afford this and you need to survive without that tosser’s money. Take it as your divorce present or the, ‘congrats, you’re free from a royal wanker!’ present.”

“People don’t give presents for divorces,” Robin murmured, throwing the envelope in her purse and drunkenly supporting her head on his shoulder. The bed was big enough to fit them both very tightly. “People give... family drama and legal shit.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“Wine and money is better, isn’t it?”

“Yeah...” she smiled with the eyes closed. They sat in silence for a while, Strike vaguely paying attention to the awful movie and more with hard heartbeats from Robin being next to him so close, dozing off against his shoulder. “I’m very sorry Charlotte’s dead.” Robin murmured then, opening her eyes when Strike thought her asleep.

“I’m very sorry you married a complete jerk who wouldn’t see your worth even if he used glasses,” said Strike looking down at him. She smiled a little and rotated her head just enough to take a good sip of wine more. “You can keep the attic, you know? I was thinking of moving somewhere else with Cassiopeia... somewhere nicer where she can have her own room and learn to walk and all... somewhere with a working lift for her stroller and everything.” He shrugged. Robin’s eyes narrowed as she got thoughtful and then she sat straight, taking another sip from her wine.

“I’ve got a proposal for you,” said Robin, looking at him thoughtful. “With your arrangement, you get a tiny flat with two micro-rooms in a shitty area of London. But you and I could together get a nice flat in a good area of London, near good schools for Cassiopeia. Three nice bedrooms, we become flatmates, none of us struggles financially and I can easily babysit for you every now and then, help you out with the little nugget in exchange for you paying most of the rent.” Strike raised his eyebrows, amused.

“You think us sharing a flat is a good idea?”

“Why not?” Robin frowned. “We are basically roommates already, or don’t we spend most of our days together in the office? You’re neat, so I won’t be screaming your head off to clean around, and I’m organised and know to give you your space, so you shouldn’t have complaints. We can take turns with shopping and cooking and we can relax each other’s workload a little, right? Think about it, you wouldn’t have to be going to Nick and Ilsa’s or Lucy and Greg’s with Casey all the time, ‘cause I could take over every now and then, or pick her up at tea time after work and take her home and have dinner with her so you wouldn’t have to go pick her up. It’d save gasoline and commuting time.”

“Alright,” Strike nodded.

“Yeah?” Robin smiled.

“Yeah,” Strike chuckled. “It’ll be fun, like being back in university. And Cassiopeia will be thankful for having a female companion. Do you really want to do this though? Cassiopeia cries a lot at night, she’ll wake you up constantly.”

“It’s fine, I love babies,” Robin looked cheerful for once. “You should’ve seen the things I did to my brothers, the poor dudes...” she laughed drunkenly. And just like that, Strike felt a little less sad inside. He grabbed his laptop and put it on Robin’s lap.

“Let’s start searching, shall we?” And Robin grinned.

**. . .**

When Strike woke up in the morning, his laptop lied on the night stand and he was on his side, an arm thrown haphazardly over Robin’s hip as she lied on her back, her face turned towards him and an arm over his own on her hip. He blushed hard at this and carefully disentangled and stirred, putting on his leg and getting up. They had been looking for flats until late and finally fell asleep and somehow, they must’ve gotten entangle during the night.

Strike blushed looking at her and feeling his insides revolving, and went on to take a shower and get dressed, even if he didn’t intend to go anywhere. When he finished getting dressed and walked back into his bedroom, Robin was sitting looking around with a scowl.

“Happy hangover day!” Strike smiled, handing her a glass of water and painkillers. Robin puffed and smiled slightly, grabbing them and drinking the pill with water.

“I’m knackered,” murmured Robin putting the glass on the bedside table and looking at herself, seeing she was still dressed.

“Why don’t you shower and get into your comfiest pyjamas?” suggested Strike. “I’m going to get lunch and we’ll have lunch while watching the Arsenal!” Robin raised her eyebrows and nodded with a little smile.

“You’re weird,” she slurred, still sounding drunk.

“I’m accepting you into my nest,” Strike joked, making her roll eyes and chuckled. “Come on, get ready. And no talking with him.” He added firmly pointing to the phone on the night stand. “He doesn’t deserve you, Robin.” They locked eyes and Robin smiled sadly, nodding a little.

When Strike came back, Robin was dressed in pyjamas with her hair neatly braided back and she was admiring one of Cassiopeia’s t-shirts, smiling at him as he entered the attic with a couple plastic bags in his hands.

“Cute,” said Robin holding up the t-shirt, that had a baby bottle drawn and underneath said ‘We’re heavy drinkers in this fam’. Strike chuckled.

“It was Ilsa’s ideas. You’d be impressed how many dressing options babies have these days.”

“Have you phoned to check on Cas?” Robin asked, putting the t-shirt back on the crib, where it had been.

“Yeah, and I called Ilsa for you, see if she knows any divorce lawyers. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell her about you... I told her it was for a friend,” said Strike, putting the bags on the kitchen counter and pulling out take-out and cutlery.

“Divorce?” Robin frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Why would I need a divorce lawyer?” Strike raised his eyebrows.

“Didn’t you say you were going to divorce?”

“I... yes, but it was just the heat of the moment and...”

“What?” Strike shook his head incredulous and looked into Robin’s eyes with a frown. “Look, I’ve never meddled in your life and I intended not to do it, but you’re going to get yourself in hell and you always say I’m your only friend in London so I guess it’s time to finally intervene in this because if I had done it the first time perhaps you wouldn’t have been heartbroken twice.”

“Cormoran, I appreciate all you’re doing, I really do but really, I can take care of my...”

“I’m not doubting that, I’m just saying, you have to divorce Matthew. You have to. There’s no other choice,” Strike blurted out, going on and putting their food in plates.

“Well, there is, I can go back, talk to him, make him stop ever seeing that bitch again...”

“That bitch?” Strike sighed. “Don’t you see Robin? You girls always do the same, if the man is a fucked up brat who goes and cheats on you, you blame the other girl. She’s a bitch, but what about Matthew? How can you trust him? How can you love him? How can you still be so naive to think you are really the one in his heart?”

“We’ve been together for ten years,” Robin breathed out, with teary eyes and a trembling voice. “Am I supposed to throw them all away?”

“You already have,” said Strike softly. “It’s like Charlotte and me. Robin, the years we’ve spent with the wrong people... they’ll never come back. The only question now is, how many more years are you going to throw away to be with the wrong person?”

“It’s not throwing anything away, is investing life with someone, I’ve invested ten years in this and I know I can fix it, I know. I love him,” Robin assured, sounding desperate.

“The problem is that he doesn’t love you and... you can’t fix something when you’ve never done a mistake, it is him who does them and it is him who needs to fix it. But what for? He’s shown you... he’s never quite been all about you.”

“What do you know?” Robin reacted passive-aggressively. “You’re thirty-six, you broke-up with your girlfriend weeks ago just because she had a child, and you’re yet to settle down!” Strike raised his eyebrows and a smile started creeping into his face, until he was laughing. Robin frowned, incredulous. “What are you laughing about?” but she, too was starting to smile.

“Because!” Strike shrugged, calming himself. “Where’s this fierce Robin when it comes to kicking the cheater of her husband’s arse?” Robin shrugged, looking down. Strike took a deep breath and put his hand on Robin’s shoulder, gently guiding her to the only surface where they both fit, his bed, and sitting next to her on the verge of it. “Robin, I’m ten years older than you, right? That means I’ve got way more experience, and not just because I’ve been with a hundred times the amount of people you have. And I’m a man, I know dudes. Robin, a cheater is by definition, and you know it in your heart because you’re the psychologist, someone incapable of compromising, someone who can’t be faithful and who wouldn’t see the worth of what he’s got even if he was wearing glasses. You deserve way more than that.”

“I’m so embarrassed,” Robin murmured, brushing her eyes. “I’m so stupid, that’s what everyone’s going to say. I took him back with his crocodile tears, I was sad for him, I thought he was right that he’d been so lonely and he needed me and I wasn’t there so he took Sarah and... I let him make it look as if it was my fault and in front of everyone in Masham I said I do,” she breathed heavily. She was silently sobbing and Strike could hear her sniffling. “All our classmates, everyone who knew us was there, and I bet everyone knew about him and Sarah and were just thinking ‘poor Robin, look at her, so stupid and naive’ and now when I divorce him I’ll come back to Masham for Christmas and everyone’s going to give me sad eyes and pity treatment and I just...” she sniffled loudly, her crying voice breaking Strike’s heart. “I threw away ten years of my life just to fuck myself up...!”

“Those ten years are only what you want them to be,” Strike said after a few seconds of silence, his voice soft and warm as he put an arm around Robin’s shoulders and let her lie her head against his shoulder. “I realised yesterday, at the graveyard... those sixteen years I was with her, they weren’t really thrown away, because I’ve chosen to remember the best of them only. Those were sixteen years of the most intense feelings I’ve ever had for anyone, of feeling wanted and cared for, of laughter, of hugs, of great sex and dreams and adventures... and they gave me Cassiopeia. Yeah, I could torment myself thinking of the shit of them and pity-partying and saying I threw my life away but truth is they gave me many good things too, that I’m going to choose to think were sincere and real and not more of her lies for my own sake, even if I’m lying to myself, because that’s what I need to believe. And ultimately, they were sixteen years of lessons. Perhaps it was something I needed to become who I am and be better or whatever shit,” Robin snorted a laugh between sobs. “You can do the same, Robin. Take the good of those ten years, choose to believe he meant it when he said he loved you, and he just didn’t know what love is, choose to believe he truly had fun with you, and that what you had was real and just... died. Take your lessons, and let it go. It’s going to hurt, and it’s going to break your heart until you believe you’ve lost the capacity to love, get drunk, make some awful choices, and remember you still have a great job and that all the incredible things you’ve done there, all the reasons the tabloids have praised you, were your fault alone and Matthew was in no way involved with them. You did it all on your own, and you don’t need him, because you are a badass woman.”

Robin breathed heavily and looked up at him, rubbing her glassy eyes and the tears away from her cheeks. She took a deep breath and shrugged.

“It’s so weird that you go from drinking your sorrows away to speaking deep and good damn advice like a poet,” she commented, and he chuckled. “How do you do it, though? From the one drunk night to the next drunk night, how do you survive the day without locking yourself in your room, agoraphobic, and missing out in life?” Strike shrugged.

“I go to work and get a cup of tea and a happy good morning from one of my best friends, who’s always forcing her happiness in my life even when I don’t want it until I have no remedy but smile,” Robin chuckled and he smiled a little. “I do the work I love. And lately... I interrupt it to change diapers and feed a mandrake who seems to like me for no reason, just like you. And when’s late, I go to sleep, and I remind myself I’ve got plenty of great things and awesome people in life and if it all fails, there’s always a Doom Bar in the fridge.” Robin giggled between tears. “You wake up, you do what you have to do, and the rest, you figure it out by accident, as the day goes by. And when you feel like it’s too much... you may always have someone willing to buy you chips and wine and pay you an expensive hotel room or give you five hundred pounds.” He added with a smile. Robin giggled, rubbing her eyes. “Hey, they say money can’t buy happiness but I’d bloody differ!” she laughed out loud. Strike grinned at her.

“I think I feel a little less sad now,” said Robin, nodding to herself.

“Are you hungry?”

“Yeah,” Robin smiled.

“Good,” Strike smiled back. “So let’s get our stomachs full and find us a flat so we can be pathetic and miserable together, shall we?” Robin chuckled and nodded, following him into the kitchen.


	9. Finding a home

“All right, this one?” three hours into flat searching, Robin woke Strike from his slumber as they sat with her laptop in the office’s sofa, since Strike didn’t have a better space for them to sit and eat aside from his bed, and Robin pointed to the screen. Strike looked, raising an eyebrow. It was a small flat in Soho, not far from Denmark Street, and it miraculously fit within their budget, like no other had. “It’s got three small bedrooms, a kitchen-cum-dining-room, sitting room, two bathrooms and a nice terrace. Fourth and last floor, so not loud neighbours over our heads to wake Cassiopeia up. It’s right by a small park so you can take Cassiopeia to play when she’s older.”

Strike leaned towards the screen as Robin passed the pictures. There was no hall, you entered the living space and kitchen as you entered the flat, and then there were four doors and the entrance to a nice terrace with views into a small park. The master bedroom had a small ensuite bathroom and then the other bathroom of the house separated the other two bedrooms, which meant if Strike took the master bedroom he could put Cassiopeia in the room next door and the other bathroom would separate Robin from the baby crying at night.

“Give me the phone, I’m gonna call.” Robin looked at him in incredulity.

“Take your mobile?” she snorted a laugh. He rolled eyes with a little smile, still half-asleep, and took his mobile, making the call.

“Hello, I’m Cormoran Strike, I’m a detective and also an Special Agent of the NCA? I’m interested in renting your flat in Soho. Yeah, I’d like to move in as soon as possible, I’ve got a baby and well... she’s not growing any slower. Could I go see it today?” Robin looked at him in silence for a few more minutes until the call ended.

“Why were you bragging about your job?” Robin asked with an amused smile.

“So they don’t play with us. People here cheat big time with the photographs and you really have to do detective work into the flats, believe me.” Said Strike knowingly. Robin, who had never bought a property on her own nor looked to rent one, trusted her judgement. Now that she thought about it, she was very inexperienced; she had only lived in her house, in university and in a flat Matthew had bought and she had merely joined in with the monthly payments. “So,” Strike looked satisfied. “Let’s go see the flat, shall we?”

Robin happily jogged upstairs to change back into normal clothes and when they were ready, they walked the few meters that separated the flats, merely a few streets to the West, further into Soho. As they walked there in the middle of a hot day, humid from the light rainfall that had fallen during the night, Strike updated Robin on the phone call he had had with the owner. It was a woman who had been living there with her children and her husband, but now that the children were grown-up and living on their own, the couple wanted to move somewhere outside the city and leave the flat for rent to get a monthly income during their retirement years. They arrived into Soho Square, and to a brown building with white-framed windows that looked just ordinary. They buzzed the intercom and walked inside the building.

“Look! A functioning lift!” said Robin excitedly pointing to it. Strike half smiled and followed her inside of it. In a mixture of excitement and nervousness, they got to the fourth floor and the door of the flat was already open, showing a smiley blonde woman in her early sixties with hair long to her shoulders and plump body.

“You’re the good at public relationships,” Strike murmured to Robin’s ear, and the strawberry-blonde woman grinned at the older one, offering her hand.

“Hello, I’m Robin Ellacott, you must be Mrs Aderton? My friend Cormoran called so we could come see the flat,” introduced Robin, smiling as she put a hand on Strike’s back and he offered his hand to the lady too.

“Oh, yes! Nice to meet you, welcome!” Mrs Aderton shook their hands and moved to let them in. “Not bringing the little girl today, Mr Strike?” she added with a smile. Strike looked kindly at her.

“Not today, she’s rather busy napping. You know, newborn life,” Strike looked around. They were in a small square room with beige walls and furnished with a couple small sofas and a small TV. Strike’s furniture all came with the attic, so he hoped this flat came furnished because Robin and he were next to homeless. “Nice, does it come fully furnished?”

“Yes,” Mrs Aderton nodded cheerfully. “My husband and I are happy to know this might be passing down to another family, we have really good memories here. Good place for children, Mr Strike. I used to let mine play downstairs all the time, I watched from the balcony.” She pointed to the small terrace accessible from the sitting room, through a glass door next to a window that also lead to the terrace.

“Good, how about schools, are they nice? I haven’t had time to research today,” admitted Strike, peeking into the terrace. He hummed in approval seeing the views were of the park and the sun came in, the building wasn’t shadowed by a taller one.

“You’ve got Soho Family Centre just a few streets away, to the south,” answered Mrs Aderton. “Took my boys there for preschool, pretty nice indeed, acceptable prices.” Strike nodded and followed Robin into the kitchen, that wasn’t very big but included enough space for a table for six.

The bathroom, that on the way there they had agreed would be for Robin and for visitors, was tiny but according to Robin, good enough, her room was small but not much more than the one she had shared with Matthew and she didn’t really need more space than that, and had views to the park, and Strike’s was the same, just slightly bigger and with a bit of a bigger ensuite bathroom that was nice both for Strike’s size and to share with Cassiopeia as she grew up, The baby room was nice and had good windows and Strike could imagine where the crib would go and toys scattered around the floor.

It was more than Strike had ever had outside of Cornwall or Charlotte’s flat, to be honest. Robin also seemed happy.

“I know is not much,” said Mrs Aderton as they reunited in the sitting room after looking everywhere attentively. “But it’s not very expensive for what you see in this area, and is clean, neat, with furniture, the warm water runs just fine and there’s air conditioner and heater in the entire flat, your baby won’t be cold in the winter. We could even lower the prize if it’s better for you, we really are sick of London and would love to move out of the flat we’re currently renting until this one is rented, as soon as possible.”

“I think my friend and I,” said Strike looking at Robin. “Can both agree this flat is much nicer than what we expected to find with our budget.” Robin smiled and nodded in agreement.

“So when can we move in?” added Robin, looking at Mrs Aderton, who grinned.

“Really? Whenever you want! You see it’s all ready! I have the contracts right here so we can sign it, I give you the key, and bring your stuff in whenever you want.”

“Thank God Casey will have her own room before Monday,” Strike sighed, making Mrs Aderton laugh as she handed him the contract. He reread the contract up to three times before passing it to Robin, knowing it was a very fast move, but they had seen so many flats online that were over their budget and not even as nice and, most importantly, homey, and Strike was in a hurry, for Cassiopeia.

**. . .**

Instead of having the relaxing Sunday Strike had dreamed of, Robin and he busied in filling her Land Rover in several trips to bring everything to their new flat. It had to be ready for Cassiopeia, or as ready as it could be, and not having to move furniture around other than Cassiopeia’s things and that Robin’s stuff was already in bags and suitcases helped tremendously. Once everything was inside the house, they started by each putting their things in their bedrooms and bathrooms, and then Strike organised a list of things they had to buy. Sheets and towels soon were followed by cutlery, dishes and glasses, and a number of things he never thought he’d have to buy with Robin one day, such as plenty of toilet paper for two bathrooms and a baby who dirtied more than she cleaned. The rest was considered luxuries, once the food was stored in the kitchen, and moved to a second level of importance.

                When it was time for them to pick up Cassiopeia they were so knackered they simply begged Lucy to bring the baby to the flat, as they threw themselves on the sofas with a bottle of wine and a Doom Bar. But at least, the flat was finally ready, except for a few boxes of things that rested on a corner of the sitting room. Lucy, who had never seen Strike’s attic, and Joan and Ted were happy with the impulsive shopping, admitting that the flat was just painted and fixed for people to like it and rent it and that they had been very lucky to get it. Strike decided to invite them for dinner as a way of compensate them for taking care of Cassiopeia all day, and Lucy called her husband to let him know of the plans and ask him if he wouldn’t mind to cook dinner for the boys and make sure they went to bed early to be up on Monday instead of coming to join them.

“I’ve got to admit I missed you, poppet,” Strike murmured lifting Cassiopeia in his arms and cautiously supporting her head against his shoulder, kissing the top of her forehead. “You’re growing so fast, look at you…” Charlotte’s money was safely inside his thickest book in his bedroom shelf now, but he was still scared shitless of losing it, so he made a mental note to store it in the bank as soon as possible. The baby, wide awake now, drooled over his shoulder as her tiny hand grabbed the chest hair that peeked between the buttons of his shirt. “What did you do today?” Strike asked walking into the kitchen with the baby, where Joan, Ted and Lucy were helping Robin cook dinner.

“We took her to the aquarium,” said Joan, and then laughed. “She slept the whole time!” Strike smiled.

“Great, that way when I take her it will be like the first time,” said Strike, stroking Cassiopeia’s dark hair softly and pressing his lips against it. “I found out Charlotte left us some money today. We must’ve forgotten to pick up the mail for days, because there it was this morning.”

“Oh, yeah I’m not so keen on picking up the mail these days, just in case,” said Robin in reference to the body parts that had tended to fill their mail with the Laing case. Strike nodded in understanding. He had noticed her expression of slight fear every time she went to open a letter. The last she had brought email into the office had been on Tuesday, after Strike having forgotten for days, and then he had forgotten again for the rest of the week, busy as he was with Cassiopeia. “So is it good money?”

“Enough to make me way more relaxed about the situation,” Strike nodded. “I’ll open a university found for Cassiopeia tomorrow with all of it. Well, university or whatever she wishes to do with her life. And given that tomorrow I start in the NCA, I might as well modify my will tonight and make sure she’s always covered.”

“Drama queen,” Robin murmured with a little chuckle, nursing her third cup of wine of the evening as she eyed the rice cooking on the stove.

“Allow me to be an obsessed father far too worried about her well-being,” Strike rolled eyes but smiled anyway.

“I’m glad you’re helping each other like this. Business partners need to stick together so everything works smoothly,” said Joan accepting a cup of wine from Robin, who had realised maybe she’d look mentally healthier if she shared her bottle. “And it’s his bloody loss sweetheart, if he doesn’t see the awesome wife he’s losing, then anyone you find is better.” Strike pretended not to notice Lucy’s eyes on him as their aunt spoke.

“Thanks Joan, that’s what my mother said,” Robin smiled slightly. She had been ignoring Matthew’s calls and texts all day, and was thankful for the moving in distraction. “And thanks for everything Corm, this is like… woah, you know?” she didn’t even have words, but Strike nodded.

“Hey, Cassiopeia will be thankful to see a woman around all the time. Otherwise she might think it’s my beauty she has to aspire to, and get traumatised,” Strike joked, and happily, observed as Robin’s laugh echoed sincerely in the room.


	10. Full sentimental conversation

That night, neither of them slept much. Robin cried herself to sleep, pressing her face into the pillow so she wouldn’t wake Strike and Cassiopeia up, and marching to the terrace to sob without bothering them when the pillow became asphyxiating, as she finished up all the wine in the house. She felt way more humiliated than the first time, it was way more horrifying, and the picture of Matthew balls deep inside of Sarah wouldn’t leave her mind. Cassiopeia woke Strike up a few times with her cries to get food or clean diapers –about the later she seemed to mind less, choosing that full stomach was her number one priority- although other times, Strike had the feeling she only woke him up for the joy of it. It was at four that he took advantage of a trip to change Cassiopeia’s diapers and, since he was already awake, went to the kitchen for some water, that he found Robin, as she walked back inside the house, sniffling, closing the terrace door behind her and wrapping her house coat tighter around herself. Strike looked at her, standing in front of her in a mixture of horror and sadness, and felt even more horrified when he saw Robin’s futile attempt of camouflaging, standing with her back pressed against the glass terrace door, hugging herself with her housecoat wrapped tightly, and trying not to breathe as she looked down, ashamed that Strike, her boss, saw her like that. A mess once again instead of the powerful, strong independent woman, she intended to be seen as.

She wanted him to pretend he didn’t see her, but he couldn’t do that. Strike walked two long steps until he reached Robin, and pulled her into his arms grabbing softly from the top of her arms. As her face collided with his chest, her cries started once again, with renewed energy. Strike hugged her tightly, hating her pain and her suffering and wishing more than ever to just run Matthew over with his brand new work car, and kissed the top of her head, trying to tell her something he didn’t find words to say. Perhaps just a simple ‘this dude right here does give a shit about you’. 

Cassiopeia’s 6AM cries for breakfast woke Strike up and found him on the sofa, sitting with Robin snuggled curled up against his chest, asleep, Robin seemed to hear the baby too, because almost at the same time, she stirred and opened her eyes, looking up at him with a frown, as if wondering what was going on.

“I’ve got to feed her, it’s her breakfast time,” said Strike softly, moving away from the sofa and into his bedroom, where Cassiopeia would sleep for a few months more, until she was older to be in her own room, giving him time to ready that one. He was just sitting in his bed with the baby in her arms greedily sucking from the baby bottle, feeling exhaustion wash over himself, when Robin knocked on the door and came in, already showered and dressed. Strike imagined in his exhaustion he had really taken his time to ready the baby bottle, which would explain Cassiopeia’s energy. Strike was pretty sure if Cassiopeia knew how to, she would be grabbing the bottle with claws herself.

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” asked Robin softly, looking like a guilty employee, with bags under her eyes that her dose of make-up –today bigger than Strike had ever seen her wear, not even at her wedding- hadn’t been able to hide.

“Sure.” Robin sat on the bed keeping a distance between Strike and herself and Strike focused again on the task in his hands, making sure Cassiopeia was breathing something other than her milk.

“I’m very sorry for these past couple days. I’ve drank all the wine you had and also the one we bought yesterday, I’ve forced myself into your home, I’ve invaded your space and I’ve been pathetic and all Crying Myrtle when I’m your employee and I should keep a level of decency around you, and I’m really sorry, I just want you to know I won’t be a weight more on your shoulders, I’m going to work harder than ever and your daughter won’t have to know me as her father’s sad friend because I’m going to get myself together and…”

“Would you please spare me this torment?” Strike said softly. Robin shut up and looked about ready to cry. Strike noticed she had misunderstood. “I mean, the self-blame. Robin, why would I be… I don’t know, angry at you? I don’t want you to throw shit at yourself, I don’t want apologises that are completely unnecessary, and I don’t want you to think any of this all.”

“I uh… I don’t…” Robin didn’t know what to do or say and Strike turned to look at her as Cassiopeia finished her bottle and he could put it aside and put the kid on his shoulder to burp.

“Robin, when you came here I was a pathetic, fat, tit, I’ve been way heavier drinker, still am, than you could ever even dream to be, and I was homeless living in my office, for God’s sakes. You saw me drunk up to my eyeballs in a pub and what did you do?” Robin shrugged, looking down. “You didn’t judge me. You listened to my crap, you made sure I didn’t get myself in trouble, you bought me some dinner and you took me to bed, and you didn’t leave me alone until you were sure I was going to be fine, even if it stirred up some trouble at home for you. And when I got knifed in my office, you used your own coat to care for my wound and came with me to the hospital. You always make tea for me and buy biscuits I eat alone, and when Cassiopeia came up, you came as soon as you knew. Don’t you think I’ll ever forget any of it. I hired a secretary and I got a partner and one of my closest friends in the world and frankly… you’re doing me the favour with this flat, well, us,” Strike pointed to Cassiopeia with his head just as she puked over a towel on his shoulder, making her smile a little. “You’re being help and company now that I need it the most, and the only part of this arrangement that I hate is that Matthew really did this to you. That you are heartbroken and suffering, when you’re the one who deserves it the least. So don’t you dare to apologise to us. You’re our friend, and like my aunt said, partners stick together. We care for each other when we’re drunk, we bring each other home, we get each other to the hospital when needed, and we work as a team so damn fine it’d be a shame to restrict our team work to the office exclusively, honestly.” Robin grinned at him with teary eyes. “Oh, don’t cry again, Cassiopeia’s done her toll already…” Robin giggled-cried and nodded, patting his good knee instead.

“You’re one hell of a friend Cormoran. And this one is the cutest thing you’ve ever done,” she added caressing Cassiopeia’s head. She looked milk-drunk at Robin and puked again over the towel on Strike’s shoulder. “Uh, there you go girl.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“By the way, if we’re having a full sentimental conversation,” Strike commented moving Cassiopeia to take the towel off his shoulder and scoop the baby, nursing her to sleep. “Thank you for taking over the office. It’s an enormous help.”

“I only ask for you to not abandon us when you become a rich 007,” Robin chuckled looking at him and he smiled.

“Nah, I really like being my own boss, thanks. Bets are on whether I will murder my boss today or will last a week,” he joked, making her snort a laugh. Strike looked at her fondly after putting Cassiopeia in her crib. “You know…” he shrugged. “You are the best junior partner I could’ve ever asked for and, if we throw a heavy veil over the Brockbank thing… you are one hell of a detective, all right? You do your job right, I wouldn’t dare to leave the office so many hours a day and take a second job, wouldn’t even dream of it, if I didn’t know I leave it in the best possible hands after my own. You’re kind, you’re brave, you’re infinitely smart and all those cases wouldn’t have been resolved so efficiently and quickly if it wasn’t because you were there. And,” he added, nodding for himself. “No one else knows the full version of what I told you that drunk night last year. No one. So don’t you ever doubt your worth because I guarantee this whole friendship, flat arrangement, taking a partner in… those weren’t things I ever planned on doing and only happened because you are a big deal of a person. Doesn’t matter if some brainless arsehole doesn’t see it. I see you.” Robin nodded, getting up and giving him a nervous, tearful smile.

“I’m going to go to work now before I start crying again, if that’s all right?” Strike chuckled.

“Great, I’ll get this one and myself ready and get there as soon as possible. Don’t cause a fire in the meantime,” he joked. She smiled and rubbed her eyes before hugging him tightly. “So we hug now, uh?” he commented casually, patting her back. Strike heard her sniffle against his chest and nod.

“We hug now.” Robin had made a mental note of how at no point he had complimented her beauty, but her talents and personality.

The morning of work included a heavy those of surveillance with a ‘baby on board’ and some interviews with some clients. Around noon Strike left to grab them some lunch and when he came back he was met with Robin singing ‘Hush little baby don’t you cry’ to Cassiopeia, who lied in her arms as Robin walked around the outside office slowly, bouncing her lightly to calm her down. Strike didn’t know how long Cassiopeia had been crying, but as he heard Robin’s beautiful singing from the door, she wasn’t crying anymore, and when he opened the door, he saw Cassiopeia’s eyes fixed on a smiley Robin. Strike felt something grow inside of him as he paid attention to the caring way in which Robin held his daughter, the warmth of her smile, the way her thumb delicately brushed the tears away from Cassiopeia’s cheek and her lips leant to press against the small forehead, treating her in a way Strike imagined she’d treat her own daughter.

“Damn, she just realised what true nice singing sounds like,” he whispered jokingly. “Now she’s not going to take my singing anymore.” Robin smiled briefly at him before focusing back on the girl. She was no longer singing, but still hummed a tune Strike’s recognised as The Beatles’ ‘Let it be’. She had blushed heavily.

Strike busied himself taking the food out of the bags and packages and after Robin had put the baby, again asleep, in the electrical bouncer, they sat to eat, Robin at her desk and Strike stretched on the farting leather sofa.

“Nice food,” Robin complimented taking a good bite of her Chinese food.

“Yeah,” Strike nodded, stabbing his food with passion before throwing it inside his mouth. “You’re good with babies. Orlando wasn’t just luck,” Robin nodded.

“I told you I used my brothers as dolls,” Robin commented gulping her food. “I also have little cousins. I don’t know, I like kids, they like me… and Strike Junior is way friendlier than Strike Senior.” She joked raising an eyebrow at Strike, who snorted a laugh.

“She doesn’t smoke and looks pretty nice, which helps, doesn’t it?” Strike commented.

“I don’t think her looking nice is a difference between you,” said Robin in a lower voice, blushing. “I mean… you’re not that bad…” she added blushing heavier. Strike raised his eyebrows.

“Ms Ellacott, are you complimenting my flawless looks and prince-charming like appeal?” Robin laughed and shook her head, her mouth full of food making her look like a squirrel, with her cheeks full, and her ears red. Strike forgot about his food for a moment, just looking at her.

“Shut up,” Robin said gulping her food. “Fat tit…” she added under her breath, repeating his own words about himself said hours previously, and he laughed loudly. She looked at him with bright eyes and giggled, her eyes fixed on him until he blushed a little and nervously, they both looked aside. Neither of them felt really sad anymore.

 

 


	11. Daddy's tee

As the days passed, Strike and Robin fell into a comfortable domesticity very effortlessly. Strike went to work and left Cassiopeia with Ilsa and Nick for a couple hours, until Robin left the office around tea time, picked Cassiopeia up, sometimes drank tea with Ilsa and Nick, and went home, looking after the baby for the few hours until Strike came home. A few times, Robin couldn’t resist taking Cassiopeia shopping and buying her a few cute outfits while they had what she had called ‘aunty time’. And then Strike arrived to find both girls already showered and with full stomachs, ready for bed, waiting for him while watching TV, Cassiopeia often asleep and drooling over Robin’s t-shirt without this one looking like she minded one bit. Robin started looking more sober every day, even Strike smoked a bit less –there was a strict rule of not smoking in the flat, and he disliked smoking in the office because of Robin, so he had many less opportunities to do it, only in the street and their terrace- and Cassiopeia seemed an easier task as Strike got the hang of it slowly but steadily over the days. There was only one exception, that came with the ‘poo party’ Robin came home to one Friday after having been partying with Ilsa and Lucy, when Strike had bathed Cassiopeia and she had liked the warm water so much and relaxed so much, poo had come out until his bathroom couldn’t be entered into for a few days.

Robin signed her divorce during a visit her parents made two weeks after she had left Matthew, when she was looking more presentable. Ilsa had found her a nice divorce lawyer who was a friend of hers and Robin had gotten good money out of the deal, even when she hadn’t wanted to punish Matthew by taking until the last penny from him. To celebrate, Ilsa and Nick took Robin, Lucy, Greg, Ted, Joan (who were spending some weeks there since it was holiday), Cassiopeia and Robin’s parents to dinner one Friday night, as Strike was at work at the NCA.

That was one more thing Strike was enjoying, working at the National Crime Agency, even though he would’ve never thought it would be a job he’d enjoy. It was tough and most days were pretty hard, but it was satisfying, rewarding, and well paid. Strike would be joining the group soon enough, as soon as he could get out of the office.

“To Robin, who takes no-one’s bullshit because she’s got the biggest pair of ovaries in the room!” Lucy toasted raising her cup to Robin, who laughed and nodded, drinking from her cup.

“Martin says Matthew doesn’t have the balls to come back to Masham,” commented Michael Ellacott, Robin’s father. “Apparently he came by last weekend and spent it entirely hidden in his house, wouldn’t dare to be seen. Your brothers are pretty ready to break his face, to be honest.”

“Oh, sush, I told them to chill,” said Robin. “Last thing I need is having one of them judged for some barbarity.”

“In Jon’s words, if no one sees…” Linda shrugged. Nick laughed.

“That sounds about right,” Nick opined. “If it serves of any consolation, cheaters are only half-nicely seen between the boys before one’s like, in the mid-twenties and before marriage. If you cheat on your wife you’re a wanker all through the world, and whoever disagrees is not a gentleman nor a lady.”

“And _that’s_ why I married you,” Ilsa chuckled, drinking from her juice as if it was alcohol. Robin smiled sweetly at them.

“You know what? Better now than with children or pets in the middle. I don’t have to share anything with him ever again, and he will never eat my chips again!” Robin declared, eliciting cheering in the table. “Honestly Lucy, I don’t know how you do it to be thirty-four and already have three children, a nice husband, a great job and a huge house. I bow to your feet, really, and well, to mum’s, because she made it with four crazy kiddos in a farm...” Lucy and Linda laughed and Robin snorted a laugh taking a sip of her wine. “No, but seriously, how? Because I work between five and eight hours six days a week, okay, because I love my job and I choose it, fine, but still! There’s no time to go meet someone nice, who likes my job, who doesn’t feel his balls are smaller because my ovaries are big and successful, marry him, and have kids and still not be a disappointment of a wife or a mother.” They laughed at her brutal honesty and Robin giggled drinking more. She always told everything to her parents so she knew she didn’t have to bite her tongue, they were laughing too. “It seems like for boys you’re either too successful, too little paid, too very well paid, threatening, or not enough of something. Seriously, the only man outside family I’ve ever known who could damn recognise how good I am at something and applaud me without complimenting my boobs or feeling threatened or acting as if my success or lack of money were national offences is Cormoran. The only one. That said, I doubt he could really ever feel threatened by me, he’s three times my width and two times my height.” She added jokingly. They laughed heavily and Lucy, rubbing her eyes, shrugged.

“Girl it’s all a matter of self-scheduling really well, you see?” Lucy commented with the shadow of a laugh in her face. “My Gregory here,” she put an arm lovingly around Greg’s neck and he chuckled. “Had me charmed before university ended, why wait that much to marry uh? You know how old I was when I married? Twenty-three. Stick said I was nuts, but Ilsa and Nick here had done about the exact same so he couldn’t quite tell me off with foundation, so we did it, and it was nuts, and it was absolutely beautiful in that St. Mawes’ Castle that’s bloody amazing, and then twelve years later here we are with three wonderful boys and all else. There’s time for everything, believe me.”

“Oh, but we waited more, Ilsa was engaged at twenty-five, and I married her at twenty... six was I?” Nick looked at Ilsa, who snorted a laugh.

“Have _you_ forgotten when we married Nicholas?” they laughed at her tone.

“No, no!” Nick giggled. “No, I have it calculated with my med studies, it was December 9th 1999 and we celebrated the start of the new century getting drunk as hell with Oggy right after our honeymoon, remember how pissed we were? Because I hardly remember that night, for the love of God, who had the brilliant idea?”

“You two, obviously!” Ilsa laughed, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Everyone partied hard that year, not everyone gets to see a new century! This one certainly doesn’t, so far,” Michael chuckled at Cassiopeia, who lied between Robin’s arms.

“Is it me or she’s always looking rather serious and mournful?” Linda commented looking at the newborn.

“Like her father, obviously,” Robin chuckled, looking down at the baby. “But this is actually the face she makes when her patience about daddy’s absence is about to reach its limit and she’s going to cry. Believe me, the first day she woke up and he was at work she cried for solid twenty minutes, I’m not even joking. The rest of the time, she’s a sweetie, aren’t you?” Robin lifted the baby to support her against her chest and kiss the top of her head, trying to make her sleep. “Daddy will be back soon Casey, all-righty?”

But the baby was pouting now and her eyes were glassy, and was starting to fuss.

“Aww hand it to me she looks so sad!” Lucy asked reaching her hands.

“Wait, I’ve got a card up in my sleeve, otherwise we wouldn’t have survived so long right?” Robin kept a hold of the fussing newborn with one arm and stirred the other to the baby bag hung from the stroller that was behind her, rummaging until she pulled her hand out of the bag grabbing one of Strike’s t-shirts and handing it to Cassiopeia, putting it around her like a blanket. Not five minutes later, the girl was asleep and Robin smiled triumphal. “Daddy’s tees always do the trick. Must be the smell or the texture...”

“So cute!” Lucy smiled snapping a picture. She already had more pictures in her phone of Cassiopeia than the rest of the family –included Strike- combined. “I have the prettiest niece in the world, I’m telling you, thank heavens she didn’t get my brother’s hair.”

“There’s still time,” Ted reminded her jokingly, snorting into his beer.

“How’s the new flat?” Linda asked Robin. She hadn’t seen it yet, since it lacked space for guests.

“It’s nice,” Robin smiled. “We repainted it a little last weekend and it’s looking like a home... it’s not as big as the one I had with Matthew, but I like it way more, it’s homey and neat, and Cormoran helped me put up this nice bookshelf in my room so my psychology books don’t have to be in boxes anymore. And the area is some of the best, come on, with a park and everything, it’s perfect. We had some drunk teenagers partying in the park one night, but Strike _jokingly_ called their attention from the balcony and pointed at them with his gun. I think they shitted themselves, we’ve never seen them again.”

“They had it coming,” Ilsa shrugged when Lucy looked at her expecting her dislike as a lawyer and defender of the law. “They were bothering my godchild, so...”

“I thought she wasn’t baptised?” Ted raised an eyebrow.

“We’re honorary godparents,” Nick explained.

Then Strike arrived walking as quickly as his leg allowed, with his black suit and pastel blue shirt, a black tie peeking from the pocket of his jacket, and belt with a gun in its holster and his badge clipped to the belt. He directed a small, exhausted smile towards them as he approached them with a slight limp, and smiled more warmly at Robin and Cassiopeia as his eyes trailed to the baby.

“Hello everyone,” said Strike casually, sitting in the only place available, that they had left free for him, between Robin and Ilsa, after having shaken the Ellacott’s hands and kissed the cheek of his aunt, Ilsa and, just to not make it obvious it wasn’t what they usually did, Robin. The strawberry blonde looked surprised and blushed a little.

“Hi you, what are you doing here so early? We didn’t expect you until the deserts!” commented Ted lightly.

“Oh, I did extra hours covering a mate the other day and today I decided to use the owed favour and he’s covering for me. How’s the little one, needed the tee again?” Strike asked Robin softly, leaning towards her so his big hand could stroke Cassiopeia’s dark curls, covering the entire back of her head with one hand.

“Yeah, but she’s asleep. She’s been good, nappies good and everything good,” Robin smiled at him. “Wanna hold her?”

“Yeah, I’m going to get my hands washed first, I washed them at the office already but you know…” Strike got up. “Have you guys ordered yet?”

“Yeah, just ten minutes ago or so,” answered Joan. “We didn’t know you were coming so soon so we didn’t order for you sweetie, sorry.”

“That’s okay, I’ll catch a waiter, be right back,” Strike went to the neat restaurant’s bathroom and washed his hands twice with the water as warm as it would go before finding a waiter, asking for a big pint and the biggest steak they had –he hadn’t eaten since a small sandwich at twelve and was starving- and made his way back to his seat, this time accepting his newborn in his arms. The little one seemed to recognise him in her sleep and snuggled closed to him, so he breathed out finally allowing every muscle to relax as he sat back and admired the creature lying against his chest. He wasn’t one to usually join the family’s comments about who she looked more like, but for a moment the kid was a scandalous reminder of Charlotte, in the way her nose crinkled a little at times, very briefly, when she slept, probably product of some dream. How many times had Charlotte lied her head against his chest, asleep, just like Cassiopeia did now?

“Cormoran?” Ilsa elbowed him lightly. Strike looked at her, startled.

“Sorry?” Ilsa’s lips curved slightly forming a small smile.

“I asked how did the day go,” said Ilsa. Strike nodded.

“Ah, was fine. Tired. Caught some ars…” he eyes Cassiopeia for a moment. “Criminals who sold immigrants as slaves in the middle of 2011, but now they’ll be sleeping in prison so long they’ll forget how the sun looks like.” He shrugged, his thumb brushing Cassiopeia’s cheek as he looked at her again. “Did she eat?” he asked looking at Robin. Lately he had been letting her take care of the child alone more often, instead of relying so much in his family. Robin had convinced him it was the easiest thing, since they lived in the same flat and it was no problem for Robin. Cassiopeia might not be sleeping through the night yet, but she practically slept through the day.

“All the times she was supposed to, next one’s in two hours,” Robin answered checking her watch. “Relax, you know I’m great at organisation.” She added with a smile.

“You’re an angel Robin, that’s what you are,” Strike took the pint almost out of the waiter’s hand and took a long sip as everyone’s drinks and dishes were lowered, with the exception of Strike’s steak, that had just been ordered and would be still cooking. Robin seemed satisfied with his compliments as she focused on the meal in front of her. “So how are things back in Masham, Mr and Mrs Ellacott?” he asked politely.

“Cormoran, we’ve told you it’s alright to call us by our names,” Linda smiled warmly at him. She had been treating him like a son more during these days they had been hanging around supporting Robin. “Everything is fine, thanks.” Strike nodded with a little smile.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Strike put his pint on the table and rummaged in a pocket, looking at Robin. “Happy return of your freedom, Ms Ellacott,” he made a point on using her maiden name as he gave Robin a small bag of chocolates. “They may be all melted, but the thought is what counts right?” Robin smiled and nodded, putting it on the table.

“Well then we all better eat it soon right? Thanks Cormoran, you didn’t have to,” said Robin grateful. Strike shrugged.

“I figured now you can celebrate the end of the infamous diet you’ve been doing,” Strike chuckled, making her giggle.

“Yeah I noticed the two bricks of ice-cream in the freezer, thank you very much,” said Robin cheerfully. It was curious how Matthew would comment on her weight as if there was something bad about it and Strike just commented on it as ‘eat the fuck you want and don’t worry so much’. 

“So when are you going back to St. Mawes?” Strike asked looking at his uncle and aunt. “Not that you’re not welcomed here obviously, just asking.”

“September, most likely. We were thinking of staying for Lucy’s birthday at least,” said Joan smiling at her niece. “And you know, in the meantime we can help you out.”

“I don’t need your help auntie, I’m doing great. Robin living with us helps a lot and I’m more used to having this one around, Cassiopeia’s not being overly cruel with me, and her doc says she’s awesome. Besides, you’d be surprised how many videos of single fatherhood YouTube has. I already know how to talk to her about her period and that’s still far away.” He made them laugh, and he leaned to kiss Cassiopeia’s cheek.

“Yeah, better leave us that talk,” Ilsa giggled looking at him through her glasses, a hand on her belly as the other managed the fork.

“How long are you going to be in the NCA, Cormoran?” Michael Ellacott asked, putting his glass of wine down on the table.

“I’m not sure,” replied Strike. His plate finally arrived and he manoeuvred Cassiopeia holding her with one arm and having the other free to eat. “I’ve signed a one year contract, but I’m really not into this thing of working eleven hours daily six days a week and barely having time to be with Cassiopeia or I don’t know, watch football, you know?” Michael chuckled, as a father of four, his understanding on the topic was big, which was the only reason Strike opened up as much, in hopes that he’d have some advice. “And I’m only doing it for the money, but my situation isn’t that urgent so...” he shrugged. “I’m thinking perhaps I’ll send Cassiopeia to nursery next year and then I can drop the NCA and be more present in the office like I’m not being and perhaps we can raise up the level of clients we’re taking, raise the fees up a little bit, and just maybe get in a third person, we’d have to do the math to see if that’d be more expensive than beneficial, right?” he looked at Robin, who nodded with her mouth full. “It does help that we share the expenses of our flat, if we each had one and had to face our own expenses on our own, we’d need to earn more and things would be harder to sustain. So I really don’t know, we’ll see. The NCA pays really well and I’ve started a future fund for Cassiopeia, I might not need such money in a year or two.”

“Well have in mind that you’re missing out on a huge experience that it’s way briefer than you might think now that’s just started, in two days she’ll be picking her things up and moving out,” said Michael with a chuckle. The idea suddenly made Strike’s stomach flip mid-munch. “And kids will always prefer you being at home, even more if there isn’t a mother in the picture, and having a humbler lifestyle, than living in a manor house and never seeing their dad,” Charlotte came to Strike’s life, how unhappy she had been with her family despite the enormous amounts of money they had had. Charlotte had wanted something different for Cassiopeia. A home. “So my advice, would be, if you want it...”

“I absolutely do.”

“...Finish your contract and drop it. You’re good administrating and organising yourself, do what makes you happy, enjoy your beautiful daughter, and if a problem comes up you’ll face it when you reach it. No one here is millionaire and we’re happy, Cassiopeia will be a happy child too. Besides, in a year she’s going to be walking and talking, wanting you to play with her and believe me, that’s not something you want to miss out on.”

“Amen,” Robin grinned at her father, gulping her wine down, and looked at Strike. “Besides, look how many uncles and aunts the kid has to spoil her and buy her expensive stuff, you’re not going to need that much money.”

“It’s decided then,” Strike smiled happily. “Just eleven months more of suffering.”

 


	12. Robin's birthday

It was the day before Robin’s twenty-seventh birthday that she went partying with the girls and some friends more Robin had met through them. Robin had also been attending Taekwondo classes twice a week for two months now, so she had some friends there as well –no one was surprised she was quick to make friends- and they all went heavy partying and drinking for Saturday night celebrations. Strike had work, but had promised he’d call a nanny and she could go and have fun. So when Robin opened the door to their flat at almost three in the morning on Sunday and found Strike snoring away on the sofa with a two-month-old Cassiopeia asleep between his arms, she was reasonably surprised.

Robin took a deep breath in a vague attempt to sober herself up enough to walk straight and after dropping her shoes and her purse in her bedroom, walked carefully to Strike and knelt on the floor the next to the sofa. Cassiopeia just kept growing and was now curled up in all her greatness, her face more like her father’s each passing day, her dark hair a bit more abundant and her eyes, now closed, had gotten of a weird gray colour. Robin made an attempt to carefully move Strike’s arm away from the baby so she could grab her and put her in her crib, but Strike’s arm tightened around the baby, so Robin went for plan b.

“Cormoran, wake up,” Robin pushed his shoulder, shaking him a little. “Cormoran! Wake up!” she hissed without rising her voice much, trying not to wake Cassiopeia up. Strike’s eyes opened and he scowled at her with a pout in a way so similar to Cassiopeia’s, Robin had a huge déjà vú.

“What?” he grumbled. Robin snorted a laugh.

“That’s what I’m wondering, why is it three in the morning and you’re on the sofa with Cassiopeia when both of you should be in bed?” Strike frowned more and then looked down, saw Cassiopeia and the dark room, and put two and two together.

“Oh... yeah...” Strike then let her grab Cassiopeia and Robin went to delicately put her in her crib, not without a kiss on the forehead and being tucked into her sleeping bag. She was just turning around to exit Strike’s bedroom –Cassiopeia wasn’t sleeping in her nursery until she was at least six months old- when Strike came in, looking like a grumpy sleepy child.

“Did you go to work?” Robin asked trying not to laugh at his expression of tired puppy with the pout and the unruly curls. She found him the most attractive at those times, weirdly enough.

“Work...” Strike nodded. “Greg took care of...” he pointed to the crib with his head and Robin giggled. “How’s... party?”

“It was fun, missed you though,” she blushed, and Strike seemed to struggle with registering her words. “Now come on, get into bed, I’ll tuck you in too since I’m here.” She knew alcohol helped her to make such suggestion, but as Strike obediently removed his prosthesis and slid under his duvet and the rain hit the windows with renewed strength, Robin didn’t have regrets. She let alcohol drive her to lean over Strike, pulling the duvet up to his neck and tucking it under his shoulders and around his neck, and on impulse, kissed Strike’s dark curly head before standing up straight again. “Good night Cormoran, sweet dreams.”

“You too...” Strike said sleepily as his eyes fluttered close. He had been drained from working so hard for so long. Robin wouldn’t be very surprised if one day he woke up with gray hair. Robin was almost all the way outside the room when she heard his voice again. “Robin?”

“Yeah?” Robin stopped in her tracks and turned around looking at the dark figure her friend was.

“Happy birthday,” he said with renewed energy. Robin grinned and the sitting room’s light illuminated it for Strike to admire.

“Indeed, Cormoran,” Robin answered cheerfully. As she slid under her own duvet, she considered that with the way her heart felt, that affirmation was more sincere than ever.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you, happy birthday Auntie Robin, happy birthday to you,” Robin was woken up by the sun and Strike coming into her room with Cassiopeia sitting against his hip and a mug of her favourite tea, Camomile, in his free hand, putting it on the night stand along with painkillers, in answer to Robin’s groan at her hangover. Strike smiled at her. “Come on Robin, we’re going on a picnic today to celebrate!”

“God...” Robin blinked awake and saw Cassiopeia looking at her with a fist in her mouth, her eyes, now big and round, fixed on her. “Whatya lookin’ at, princess?” Robin smiled vaguely, stretching her limbs with a groan.

“She adores you,” Strike kissed Cassiopeia’s temple. “Come on baby girl, let’s leave aunty to get ready and puke, yay!” he said as he left the room. Robin snorted a laugh against the pillow.

“I’m dying,” said Robin as she came into the kitchen looking pale after throwing her guts out. Strike was already sitting on the table with Cassiopeia in her lap, eating English Breakfast and feeding the baby. Robin saw there was a smaller plate for her, and she reluctantly sat to eat.

“So dramatic, you’re only twenty-seven!” Strike joked with a chuckle. Cassiopeia coughed in agreement and Strike frowned. “She’s been coughing for a couple days now, you think she may have gotten a cold?”

“Maybe, it’s chilly out there,” Robin shrugged, taking a sip of her second camomile of the morning. “Did you take her to the doc?”

“No,” Strike looked guilty. “I’ve been so busy, I didn’t notice how frequent the coughing was... I’ll take her tomorrow for sure.”

“Relax, Cormoran, babies get sick all the time,” Robin grinned at Cassiopeia’s little noises, as if she was discussing with them, gurgling away. “You agree with me don’t you?” she smiled at the baby, stroking her soft cheek. Strike tried not to feel the warmth inside that came whenever he saw them interact.

“She’s just talkative,” Strike rolled eyes and kissed the baby’s temple. “Perhaps we should change plans. Hasn’t stopped raining yet.”

“I agree!” Robin took a bite off bread enthusiastically. “So, what do I want to do on my twenty-seventh birthday...?” her eyes narrowed at Cassiopeia. “Why don’t we let the littlest one choose?”

“A gurgle means Arsenal,” Strike whispered to Cassiopeia. Robin giggled.

“Actually, why not? I’ll make popcorn!” Strike observed with wide eyes as Robin got up and happily took a bag of popcorn from the cabinet. She turned to look at him cheerfully. “What are you waiting for? Go and find me the greatest match of all times!”

Twenty minutes later, Strike had given Robin an Arsenal’s t-shirt, was wearing his own, just like Cassiopeia, and the rain was strongly hitting the windows. They had built a pillow fort and put inside the coffee table with Robin’s laptop on it. Cassiopeia lied on the pillows between them, together with the popcorn.

“Okay so this is the final of the 2003-2004 Premier League, the top football level in the UK okay? When the Arsenal won 2-1 against the Leicester City. Arsenal went the entire league without a defeat, and it’s the first team to have ever done that, so aside from being the Gunners, we’ve also been called the Invincible,” said Strike excitedly, hitting play on the laptop and grabbing a fistful of popcorn.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have told me we were going to win! Now there’s no mystery,” Robin chuckled at his excitement. “Pretty impressive statistics though. Have you ever played football?”

“When I was a teenager I always played with my mates,” Strike nodded, his eyes fixed on the screen. “Not professionally though, not championships or anything.”

“I see, so this one isn’t a kicker for nothing,” Robin smiled down at the sleeping baby, caressing her head. Strike chuckled looking at them. “So why the Arsenal? Aren’t you a Cornishman? I thought the Arsenal was from London.”

“You do know some football,” Strike was somewhat impressed. His red t-shirt was huge on Robin and she was very tempted to rip it off and kiss her. “I have no idea, Uncle Ted was all about it, so...” he shrugged. “Nick prefers the Spurs, well,” he rolled eyes. “Tottenham Hotspur.”

“Oh... the _enemy_ ,” Robin snorted a laugh, looking at the screen, and Strike chuckled.

For forty-five minutes, they focused on the screen, with occasional checking on Cassiopeia, and Robin found herself enjoying it, mostly because of Strike’s grunts and reactions, as if he was watching the game live for the very first time, as if he didn’t know they won. Robin, on the other hand, ended up getting caught up and reacting more or less the same as him, which amused Strike. During the break, Strike went to put Cassiopeia in her crib and Robin prepared a quick lunch she brought into their little pillow fort. Strike put the baby monitor on the coffee table by the laptop and his eyes trailed frequently from the game to the sleeping baby during the rest of the match.

When the ceremony of awards came, Strike almost had tears in his eyes and Robin couldn’t stop looking at him, all amused and impressed.

“I’ve never seen you so emotional about anything in my life, and I’ve seen your baby breakdowns,” Robin whispered with a chuckle as Strike let out a gurgle and smiled big like an excited child.

“I won five hundred quid on a bet that day,” whispered Strike emotionally. Robin laughed openly and Strike looked at her, his eyes fixed on her.

She was laughing loudly, her head thrown back and her cheeks all blushed, with his t-shirt too big and revealing her shoulder, and her hair dishevelled thrown back. Her pyjama pants were gray and baggy and her feet were barefoot and the toes shinned a little with the strawberry-blonde hairs. Strike had never seen anything prettier than Robin in that moment. Robin stopped laughing and blushed hard, shyly looking at him.

“What?” Robin murmured as their eyes locked and Strike smiled sweetly at her, in a way he had never done, his eyes bright and a slight blush creeping over his neck and ears.

“You’re beautiful,” Robin’s eyebrows rose up and down once very quickly and her lips opened slightly, speechless and surprised. Strike reached a hand to move a strand of hair from her face, cupping her cheek with her big hand. “Outside too.” He added with a little chuckle. She unconsciously leaned against his palm, turning her head a little, her lips brushing with his palm by accident and her eyes closing.

When she opened her eyes, Strike was looking at her with intensity, and, without neither of them really knowing who started it, suddenly their lips met, Robin’s hand was buried in his hair, and their kiss was intensifying at fast speed.

 

 


	13. What about us

Robin smiled as Strike’s kisses travelled down her shoulder, his arm sliding to hug her wrist and her hand finding his and intertwining over her belly as their lips finally met again. They had been fooling around for a week now, kissing here and there and having passionate sessions of lovemaking at night, when Cassiopeia was asleep. They had agreed not to discuss anything, just enjoy each other and whatever they had for as long as they could. Strike was the gentlest lover, which Robin felt as a healing experience and was starting to enjoy sex like she had never done in her life with all her traumas, so she was content with the agreement, one headache less to think about. However, as Strike’s lips pressed against her own and they giggled as they rolled so he’d be hovering on top of her, Cassiopeia gurgled in her crib and the reality that they couldn’t go another week without talking hit her full force, forcing her to gently push Strike away.

“What?” Strike’s lips were swollen thanks to her and pursed towards her as his eyes half opened.

“We need to discuss our relationship, Cormoran,” she said gently, pushing him to roll and lie beside her, and turning to look at him. Strike grunted, his hands rubbing his face and then adjusting the sheets over his nakedness.

“I thought we agreed on just enjoying this, no strings attached, because you’re divorced and I’m a father and it’d be too complicated,” said Strike.

“We never verbally agreed to anything,” Robin rolled eyes and smiled vaguely. “Is that what you want? Just sex, no strings attached, we can sleep with whoever we want and do whatever we want?”

“I mean...” Strike shrugged and then sighed, getting shy and looking to his feet. “Look, I understand I am too much as something more serious than that. I left Elin between other reasons, because there was a child involved, I know the fact that I’m a dad is a weight. I know with you being such an important person in my life already and sharing flat and office and everything, Cassiopeia is unavoidably going to grow up seeing how important you are and how much you matter and she may see you as the cool aunt or something, and if we got serious you’d be daddy’s girlfriend and eventually the more serious we got it could meant that you’d be a potential step-mother, and you’re ten years younger than me and I didn’t want a kid to begin with so I’d completely understand that you don’t want to compromise with a father knowing it can lead to all those serious matters. So I thought this unspoken arrangement we had was the best and fairest thing for you.”

“I’m not asking you what I want,” said Robin sweetly, squeezing his upper arm as she rolled to face him. “I’m asking you what _you_ want.” Strike looked at her and for a moment, Robin thought he wasn’t going to say anything because Cormoran Strike doesn’t do feelings and opening up, but to her surprise, after a deep breath and a few seconds of silence, his mouth opened, although he looked at his feet again and his ears were red.

“I want you,” said Strike simply. It followed by another small shrug. “I always... since you came into the office... I have eyes, you know? I saw you as someone I’d be happy to sleep with if it wasn’t for that ring in your hand. And then it wasn’t just about that ring, I thought it would be dangerous to do anything with you because I didn’t want to ruin our partnership and our friendship. I’ve never thought just being your lover was worth putting our friendship and partnership at risk. I thought you were wife material, you know? You’ve never been the woman one sleeps with. You’ve always been the woman one tries with as hard as one can, and gives her his best, and if possible, marries her. You don’t deserve any less and the thing is... family was never in my plans and I knew it was in yours because it fits you. I thought we wanted very different things so... I would never act on my feelings because I never thought we stood a chance, I thought you were for someone like Matthew and I was...” he shrugged. Robin smiled sadly. “But you’re still one of my favourite persons, one of my closest friends, the most attractive woman I know...” Robin rolled eyes with a chuckle. He was timidly stroking her arm with his index finger. “And I care tremendously about you. I like you so much, inside and out... and there’s no one I like spending time with as much as with you. Even when I was with Elin, I always had more fun just chatting with you than sexing her up. You’ve always been my favourite. And before there was no way we could’ve been in the same page about the future, but now... Casey is here. She’s changed everything. I don’t know if I’ll ever want more kids, but I will want her for sure, and I want her to have the whole package. The nice house, the play-dates, and someone female she can look up to, I don’t know if a step-mother... but someone there, for sure. And I think you and I make a great team, and if we just tried... what if it works uh? What if it is everything we ever wanted? We’d be like Mr and Mrs Smith, right? Like... resolving cases together, doing the job we love... and coming home to be as much of a perfect match as we are in the office. And Cassiopeia adores you so I know she’s not going to disapprove, and I love living with you... and I know if you’re wife material and I’ve managed to be father material, which I don’t think anyone ever thought possible, I think I could manage to be husband material for you one day too. So I’d like to try. And I’d like to give it my best.”

Robin grinned rolling on top of him and cupping his face.

“Who knew there was a huge rambler in there uh?” Robin joked leaning to kiss him intensely. Strike hummed into the kiss and wrapped his arms around her.

“So did I say something right?” Strike questioned between kisses.

“Oh you said all the right things... boyfriend,” Robin chuckled raising eyebrows as she kissed him again, moaning into the kiss. Strike smiled against her lips.

“So you agree with me?” Strike asked pulling apart again.

“120%, you read my mind,” Robin grinned, her nails lightly brushing his cheek. Up so close Strike could see a dozen freckles over her nose bridge and below her eyes. “But if you pull apart once again for something other than breathing, I might cut your dick off.” Strike chuckled.

“You love it too much for that.”

“Mmm that I do...” and Robin’s giggle was muffled by his lips.

Hours later, Strike was all ready to go to the NCA to spend the last hours of Saturday, and Robin had Cassiopeia sitting on her hip as they went to give him farewell.

“Say see you daddy! We have girls party!” Robin kissed Cassiopeia’s cheek and Strike kissed the other, with a chuckle.

“All right, I’m leaving,” Strike kissed Robin’s lip. “Be good!” he stroke Cassiopeia’s cheek and the girl coughed hard. “Woah... are you sick love?” Strike pressed his lips against her forehead. “Doesn’t feel warm...”

“Didn’t the doctor say the X-Rays came clean?” said Robin frowning.

“Yeah, it’s probably just the weather change... well, keep her cosy, right?”

“No worries, we’re a team!” Robin playfully did a high five with Cassiopeia. “Bye bye, be safe!”

“You too!”

The door closed and Robin smiled at the kid.

“Wanna do some tummy time? Yeah?”

Robin had time to wash the dishes while Cassiopeia lied in her crib practising her kicking and trying to reach the mobile, and then took her to the living room for tummy time, putting her on her tummy on top of a soft baby carpet. Robin sat right beside her with her laptop on her lap doing some research for a case while using a hand to snap her fingers over Cassiopeia’s head as a motivation to make her try and get her head up. Cassiopeia absolutely hated tummy time, but that way she seemed to at least tolerate it.

However, she was eventually crying and Robin put the laptop aside and took the baby in her arms.

“Hey you, it’s okay, no more tummy time for today I promise...” Robin smiled at the baby and her smile fell as she noticed the baby was making weird breathing noises, coughing, and her lips were turning blue. “Cassiopeia? What the heck...” Robin was up on her feet in no time, throwing some shoes on and trying to calm Cassiopeia down at the same time. “Don’t worry sweetheart, I’m going to get help!” Robin grabbed the keys and flew off the house, baby in one arm and baby bag hanging from her shoulder. She was glad she hadn’t gotten into her pyjamas yet.

 

 

 


	14. Fathering

As he ran into the hospital, Strike felt like throwing up. His leg was killing him, but he didn’t stop running until he saw a pale Robin standing in a waiting room full of empty chairs. She instantly rushed to him and hugged him, caressing his hair as he trembled between her arms.

“Where is she?” he breathed out. He noticed Robin was murmuring things trying to calm him down.

“She’s in the theatre,” said Robin, cupping his face and tiptoeing to kiss his forehead. “It couldn’t wait, Cormoran. She was struggling and suffering, they had to take her in quickly. I held her hand while they put her to sleep, she was better.” Strike lost all the colour from his face and for one moment, Robin thought he was going to faint, so she took him to sit on one of the chairs of the waiting room. She kept an arm around him, bent to continue caressing his hair, and put her free hand over his own on her lap. “They ran an echocardiogram, which is like ultrasounds, completely pain free and non-invasive, I was with her the whole time, and they found out she’s got this thing called Ebstein’s Anomaly, which basically,” she spoke sweetly. “Means one of the ventricles of her heart, that has these valves that open and close to let blood flow as it should, well, the valves aren’t well-made, sort to say? It’s a... well, from birth, sometimes it’s not detected until they’re kids or teens even, depends on how bad it is... Which means is not as bad as to have been detected when she was younger or in the womb. So she struggles a little to get the necessary amount of oxygen, and now these really good surgeons, and I’ve investigated them online, are opening her chest up and doing this minimally invasive procedure in her heart to correct the valves so they work right. And then, Casey is going to be perfectly fine. She’s asleep, she won’t feel a thing, and then when is over, they’ll take good care of her and keep her happy until she’s ready to go home. The head of paediatric surgery is attending her, and she’s a very nice mother, okay? So Cassiopeia’s in the best hands.”

“Right...” Strike nodded, leaning against her shoulder. “Right...” Robin kissed his head and squeezed him close. “How long is the procedure?”

“Four to six hours, more or less. They said it could vary a lot, since she’s so tiny and they’re going in very slowly and carefully to make sure she’s all right.” Strike let out a shaky breath.

“Thank you for taking care of her and being with her. I should’ve been with her...” murmured Strike, looking grim and to be barely holding up together.

“You can’t be everywhere every second,” Robin smiled tenderly at him. “I care about her. I’ll always look after her.” Strike nodded, and squeezed her hand. “I haven’t called anyone but you. Do you want me to call someone? Lucy? Nick?” Strike breathed in deeply.

“I don’t know,” Strike’s lip trembled. “I... I can’t think right now.”

“That’s okay,” Robin kissed his temple. “I’ll take care of things. I’m going to call, okay? Perhaps Nick knows the doctor, he works here. Perhaps he can help you understand what’s happening?” Strike nodded.

“Good idea.” Robin showed signs of going to leave to make the phone call, but Strike pulled her against him. “Stay?”

“Of course,” Robin resumed her position and pulled her phone, punching Lucy’s number. “Hi Lucy, do you have a moment? It’s important.”

“Sure, what’s up?” answered Lucy on the other line. Robin could hear her sons in the background.

“Cassiopeia’s having heart surgery right now,” said Robin softly, not knowing how to say it. She felt Lucy hold her breath. “We’re i...”

“I’ll be right there, text me the address” Lucy interrupted it, and hug up. Robin nodded for herself and punched Nick’s number.

An hour and a half later, the six sat on the waiting room in a climax of anxiety and worry that left them speechless and pale. Ilsa cradled her own five-months belly as if she was protecting her own child from the barbarities of heart diseases, and Strike had started walking around like a hungry lion, stripped of his jacket and with the sleeves rolled back, a slight limp present, but no expression of physical pain, just immense worry, in his face. It was then than a young doctor, probably an intern, came running.

“Cassiopeia Strike’s family?” he asked, breathless. Strike was on his face in a second, looking about to have a stroke.

“I’m her father, is she all right? Did something go wrong or...?”

“Sir, calm down, everything is going fine,” the doctor assured. “I was just sent from the OR because Doctor Karev thought it would be a good idea to have more reserves of her blood type, since it’s very lacking and she wanted to prevent in case we need more than we’ve got, so we don’t have to stop the surgery if the case comes up until there’s more.”

“Sure, take all the blood you need,” Strike offered his arm, practically. The others got up and stood around. The intern, a head shorter than Strike, looked nervous.

“Sir, the complication is, your baby daughter is zero negative. She can only accept zero negative, universal donor but only receives from its own. It’s an extremely uncommon type, which is why the surgeon wanted to prevent. I assume you or the mother are zero negative?” Strike had gotten pale as a sheet.

“We’re both A+. How in hell is Cassiopeia 0-? There’s no way... You guys must’ve made a mistake...”

“No, is actually possible, just very rare, like I said. Is anyone by any chance 0-?” he asked looking around. Everyone looked at each other nervously and panicking, but Robin stepped forward with a serious expression.

“I can give her my blood. I’m 0-,” said Robin. Strike’s eyes widened looking at her.

“You are?” he looked about to laugh-cry. “Seriously?” Robin nodded, smiling a little.

“I’m actually a regular blood donor, I can donate, no problem. I’m not a smoker, I haven’t drank alcohol in thirty something hours, I’m in good health, I have the minimum weight required. So...” she rolled her sleeves up with ease. “Pick an arm doc.”

“Now we know who to ask a favour if we ever need one...” Nick murmured as Robin followed the doctor to another room. Under Robin’s petition, Strike stayed behind to be ready in case any other doctor came out to talk to him, since the donation could take a while and donating leaves one in need to sit down for a few minutes, so Robin wouldn’t be back in some time.

“So this... Doctor Karev... is she a good surgeon?” asked Strike nervously looking at Nick, who nodded.

“She’s good with the little ones, yeah. And she’s the Chief of Paediatric, so...” Nick nodded once more. “Cassiopeia’s in the best hands, mate. And remember she was born in a bathtub, she’s a strong kid, open heart surgery is nothing for her,” he tried to encourage with a small smile. “Besides, it must not be a very bad case, otherwise it would’ve been diagnosed sooner and, I’ve heard her cry, that heart can’t be too bad. Nothing a good surgeon in the eight of the XXI Century can’t fix.” Strike nodded, walking around like a dog.

“She’ll be fine then, right? She’s not gonna...” Strike gulped and his voice shook. “Die on me?”

“Hey, Oggy...” Nick walked to him and squeezed his shoulder. “We’re talking of _your_ daughter. Do you really think this surgery is any challenge for someone with your blood in her veins? Casey’s a rock! No matter how difficult it gets, she’ll climb any mountain, I’m sure. So try to breathe and you’ll see how it all gets better in the end.”

“Yeah, right...” Strike bit his lip and then took a deep breath. “It’s just... they’re pocking in her tiny heart and she’s just such a small thing and delicate and soft and...” he rubbed his eyes impatiently. “Now she’s going to be all in pain and I won’t be able to help her because I’m not a bloody doctor and I don’t want her to hurt...” he sniffled.

“Don’t worry about that, mate, she’s going to be asleep for a few days so she doesn’t feel a thing, and then they’ll give her meds and the nurses will make sure she’s comfortable and happy. It’s going to look terrible for a bit, but I assure you she’ll be way better than she looks.”

Nick moved Strike to sit with them and handed them one of the few bottles of water he and Ilsa had brought to keep everyone hydrated. Robin didn’t come back until another hour later, looking significantly paler and putting pressure in the inside of her elbow with her other hand. Strike moved to cede her his chair and sat next to her, putting an arm around her.

“How’re you?” asked Strike sweetly.

“I’m fine,” Robin leaned against his shoulder. “And she’ll be fine too.”

However, no doctor came back until almost three hours later, when Doctor Arizona Karev came, looking serious but happy, with long blonde hair and bright blue eyes, short and a bit plump from previous pregnancies, it seemed.

“Cassiopeia’s dad?” she asked with a sweet voice looking at Strike with a bright smile.

“Yeah, Cormoran Strike,” he stood up and shook her hand. “How’s my baby?” he asked anxiously. He was exhausted, but more worried about the baby than about sleeping, given the circumstances.

“She’s okay,” Doctor Karev answered, making him let a long breath out in relief. “Cassiopeia was born with Ebstein’s Anomaly, which means...”

“I know,” the doctor nodded and smiled again.

“We’ve repaired the valves and took our time to reinforce the structure and make sure it never gives an issue again. It wasn’t one of the worst cases of Ebstein’s Anomaly, it was actually not that bad and the repair was relatively easy. We’re expecting a full recovery, although slow, given her age and how delicate the injury is to be treated,” Strike almost felt like laughing and crying in relief all at once, so he sat down looking at the doctor full of gratitude. Robin grinned, caressing his hair. “Of course, complications can arise and make matters harder, and she does have quite a few cuts between the surgery, IVs and others, they all could get infected and need to be taken care of very well, which is why we’re going to have Cassiopeia in the Special Care Baby Unit for three or four days, under strict supervision of our team twenty-four-seven.” Doctor Karev explained.

“Can I see her?” Doctor Karev nodded.

“Only three people at a time, and one always has to be the father or mother.”

“Her mother’s dead,” said Strike. “But uh, my girlfriend and my sister can come, right?” Doctor Karev nodded.

“We’ll wait,” Ilsa gave them a nod and the trio followed Doctor Karev downstairs to a large corridor. First they entered a bathroom so everyone could thoroughly wash their hands under the doctor’s orders, and then they proceeded down the corridor.

There were rooms at both sides with glass door and windows to allow the nurses to take an easy look at any time but also give the families some privacy, and the doctor stopped before a door and indicated them to wash their hands with a special antibacterial gel dispenser that was on the wall.

“Cassiopeia doesn’t look her best, she’s got tubes and cables everywhere, it may seem scary,” the doctor said gently. “But don’t worry, I assure you she’s in no pain.”

They entered a small room, cubicle like, with not much furniture aside from the baby cot and a bed next to it, besides a few cabinets, a changing table, an armchair and a small closed window, and the nurses smiled at them as they finished organising things with Cassiopeia and left. The lights were turned off except for one pointing to the ceiling, to let her sleep.

“You can stay as long as you want and sleep in that bed,” Doctor Karev explained to Strike before they approached the bed. “You only have to leave while the nurses change shifts, twice a day, they’ll let you know when. The closes bathroom is the one you just saw, and the nurses will be barging in and out continuously to check on her. I’ll come see her twice per day unless the nurses call me more often if required. You can touch her, you always have to wash your hands properly before coming in, even when using the antibacterial gel, with warm water and soap. You can’t kiss her because it could transmit bacterial and people that are sick with something contagious are not allowed in. You can’t pick up your baby yet, but the nurses will encourage you to help with any tasks they can get you involved with, if you wish to. You’re encouraged to talk with the baby, even if she’s asleep, and to touch her,” she gave all indications calmly, with a soft voice and many smiles, and Strike nodded slowly. “If you have any doubts, questions, anything, the nurses’ desk is right outside the door and you can also tell them to call me and I’ll come right away. If you wish to give anyone else permission to be here when you can’t, just give the name to the nurses, okay?” Strike nodded again. 

They finally approached the cot and Strike felt about to vomit and cry at once, a knot so big in his throat he could hardly breathe. The cot was closed with a plastic cover except for the holes for hands that were on the sides. His tiny baby was in her diapers and hardly looked like a real-living baby, and not a doll, from how still she was. She was connected to machines, such as a breathing one, that let a bit of noise out, and a screen showed her heart rhythm. There were cables everywhere and tubes around her face almost covering it, and he had trouble to recognise his own daughter. A long bandage in the middle of her chest signalled where they had cut, and small dressings were around her belly and arms, keeping other small tubes connected. If it wasn’t for her characteristic toes –index fingers longer than the others just like Strike’s- and a little light brown birth mark on her left chest, Strike would ask if she was really his daughter.

“Is it okay if I hold her hand?” he whispered.

“Of course, you should,” the doctor smiled gently at him. Strike carefully put a trembling hand through one of the holes, reaching for the little hand, so teeny against his huge, hairy one. Strike at first only dared to stroke it with his finger, but feeling a squeeze from her, as if she recognised him in her sleep, he enveloped the whole hand with his own, rubbing with her thumb.

“Daddy’s here, poppet,” he whispered feeling his eyes fill with tears. “You’re going to be okay baby girl... and don’t worry, we’ll watch all the matches you miss when you come home.” He felt stupid to add that, but at the same time it felt important, so he felt entitled to look at the doctor and explain himself. “We watch the Arsenal together all the time. She likes the bright colours and the ball... like a kitten.” He murmured with a sniffle.

“That’s good,” the doctor seemed about to cry herself, so she smiled. “I’ll give you some privacy. Please, if you need anything, help is a button away.” She showed a tiny red button hanging from one of the machines. Strike nodded and looked back at the baby, squeezing her hand gently.

Robin, next to Strike, sniffled and used her hand to cup one of Cassiopeia’s foot, putting her other hand on Strike’s back and leaning her head against his shoulder. Lucy had Cassiopeia’s other hand and her cheeks were bright with silent tears.

“She’s got big feet, doesn’t she?” Robin commented with a croaky voice. “Just like her daddy.” She added with a laugh-cry. Strike nodded.

“Most her socks are too tiny already, she’s hell to buy things to,” Strike joked with a nervous cry-laugh, and bit his lip.

“And she still looks pretty despite all this shit, I’m jealous,” Lucy murmured tearfully. “It’s the real reason I’m crying.” Strike snorted a laugh but looked at her appreciatively. Lucy didn’t usually join their dark humour and Strike wasn’t sure he could survive such experience without it.

 


	15. The queen of the flat!

 

The first night in the hospital was hell to say the least. Not only Strike hated hospitals, but he refused to stop touching Cassiopeia, so he slept on the armchair with his arm uncomfortably stuck inside the cot, after singing all the songs Cassiopeia had always seemed to enjoy, such as ‘Make you feel my love’, ‘Circle of life’ or Blue Öyster Cult’s classics. The night was long and followed by many more alike, only leaving once after three days –and leaving Robin, Lucy and Ilsa to substitute him- to shower, shave and change clothes. But the rest of the week, he stayed with Cassiopeia, changing her nappies when allowed, and kissing her forehead while she slept against his naked chest when he was finally allowed to hold her for skin-to-skin contact

After days in the NICU and then in the Special Baby Care Unit, Strike was finally allowed to take Cassiopeia home after two weeks in the hospital, right before Halloween, which would ensure she didn’t have to be there if things got crazy.

“God I love you so,” Strike couldn’t stop kissing Cassiopeia’s big cheek as she lied on the bed between Robin and him. They had just been cleaning her wounds and telling her a story and singing songs and now they were just showering her with affection after she had been crying from pain. “Who’s daddy’s girl, uh? The apple of my eyes?” Robin chuckled at Strike’s unrecognizable behaviour, since he had never drooled for Cassiopeia that hard, and he smiled big against Cassiopeia’s hand, that he brought to his lips. The baby gurgled and kicked her legs looking excited. “You’re the strongest girl I know, my love.” Strike whispered caressing her head.

“I think she likes compliments,” Robin grinned, stroking the baby’s long legs. “In no time she’ll be running around with these strong legs!”

“How was I ever happy without her...” Strike lied down letting the baby grab his cheek far too tightly, fascinated with his facial hair, and sinking his eyes into hers, dark brown-green meeting big gray-green ones. Charlotte’s had been gray too, but these seemed to have picked some of the green of his own, and she stared intently at him, making noises.

“What do you think she’s trying to say?” Robin asked caressing Cassiopeia’s belly.

“I don’t know...” Strike whispered. “Being my daughter, she could be cursing.” She giggled at Strike’s joke and nodded.

The nights were the worst. Not because Cassiopeia would wake up crying –she already did that before- but because Strike wouldn’t even attempt to sleep. Robin managed to drag him to bed for a few hours and when she’d wake up during the night she’d catch him sitting by Cassiopeia’s crib with his arm between the bars to hold her hand, singing in whispers, whatever came to his mind. One night Robin simply slid to hug Strike from behind and press a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“You need to sleep some day,” whispered Robin eventually, as Strike leaned back against her chest.

“I just get so... scared... her heart’s gonna stop beating in the middle of the night and no one’s going to realise until we find her dead in the morning.”

“Cormoran...” Robin gave him a gentle squeeze. “Those things happen. Perfectly healthy people can suddenly die, a hurricane can come and kill us all, the building could explode while we sleep, we could get run over any day... that’s life. And you’re a dad, and you’re unavoidably always going to worry Cassiopeia will come home safe and sound at the end of the day, that she’s happy and okay... but still sometimes she’s going to get hurt. Sometimes she’s going to cry. One day, she, you and I will die. And there’s nothing anyone can do about it.” Her voice was gentle and soft in the dark, sleepily slow, and her cheek felt warm against his nude back as he sat in his pyjama shorts. Skin-to-skin contact with babies was very good for them and their recovery, so he was getting used to not wear shirts around the house.

“Is that supposed to make me feel any better?” Strike whispered jokingly. Robin snorted a laugh.

“No... What I mean is... go to bed. Because whatever happens is going to happen, and you can’t do anything to prevent it more than teach her your best and give her a safe environment. She’s as safe as she can be right now. You’ve done your job. Go to bed and sleep,” Robin kissed his back again. “Her heart is okay. They cut it, the wound was closed, the wound healed up, and now it’s not going to open. Her valves are stronger than ever. She’s stronger than ever, or else they wouldn’t have released her. So for one night, she’s going to be okay. Whatever happens next, we’ll deal with the problem when it comes. Together.”

“How the hell do parents do it uh? Have this anxiety inside all the time and just enjoy life still? I don’t get why anyone would want to be parent, it means never again breathing calm in your life,” Robin giggled at Strike’s words.

“You’re supposed to learn to live with it,” Robin kissed the crook of his neck. “I’m serious Cormoran, look at her. She’s badass. She’s okay. And if she isn’t, she’ll cry until our eardrums bleed.”

“What if she can’t cry?” asked Strike anxiously.

“Then our seventh instinct to protect her will kick in and we’ll wake up,” Robin shrugged. “Right?”

“What if it doesn’t?” there was a moment of silence.

“We’re going to need coffee,” said Robin after a while, and she went off to the kitchen.

The couple awoke on their bed, entangled and with little Cassiopeia sleeping on Strike’s chest, so that she was raised up and down with his breathing, making her gurgle every time she felt herself raising by magic. This made Robin laugh the moment she woke up and saw it, slapping Strike’s arm.

“Make me a favour and stop scaring the crap out of your daughter!” Strike snorted a laugh and lifted Cassiopeia in the air.

“Who’s the queen of the flat?” Strike grinned at the baby. Robin chuckled, throwing an arm around him.

“I don’t know what I like more, shirtless you or daddy you,” Robin murmured. Strike raised eyebrows and looked down at himself, his soft belly and his hairy chest.

“You really don’t know?” he asked incredulous, with a laugh.

Strike got up to put Cassiopeia in her crib and turned to approach Robin, who laid smiley in bed. He raised eyebrows suggestively before their lips collided and his hands travelled to squeeze her ass. They were off to start the morning right.

Hours later, Strike had gone off to buy groceries and diapers while Robin entertained Cassiopeia, both lying on a soft carpet on the floor as Robin tried to teach her to roll over and laughed with Cassiopeia’s gurgling and other noises, as the baby kicked the air and drooled all over, giving her big eyes and excited sounds. There was a buzz from the intercom and Robin jogged to attend it.

“Cormoran?” Robin asked. Then frowned. “Tracey? Tracey who? Oh! Yeah!” Robin pressed the button and looked at Cassiopeia. “Daddy’s ex is coming,” Robin commented picking Cassiopeia up and kissing her cheek. “One of the many exes of daddy, what do you think she wants?” Cassiopeia made excited sounds. “Aw, no I don’t think she’s coming to play with us, love.”

Robin opened the door and waited until Major Tracey Hudson from the RMP’s SIB exited the lift, dressed in her normal attire, and smiling at them.

“I’m Robin Ellacott, Cormoran’s partner,” Robin shook her hand. “And this one is Cassiopeia Strike. I’m afraid Cormoran’s out shopping, although he should be back soon.”

“That’s okay. Can I wait for him inside? It’s rather stormy,” Tracey gestured to her dripping umbrella and smiled a little. Robin smiled politely and nodded, moving to let her in. “I was just visiting because I heard he quitted the NCA, I thought it was strange.”

“No, he never quitted,” Robin frowned, bringing Tracey a beer as they sat on the sofa, Cassiopeia on her lap busy being fascinated with the strawberry-blonde hair. Tracey was one more super attractive woman in the club of Strike’s super-hot exes. “He’s on compassionate leave because Cassiopeia had surgery and he needs to be attentive of her.” Tracey’s eyebrows raised and she looked worried at the kid.

“Is she alright? I... I have a daughter myself so...” Tracey smiled at Cassiopeia.

“She had a congenital heart defect. Open heart surgery so, you can imagine how stressed Cormoran’s been,” Robin shrugged, kissing the top of the baby’s head. Tracey’s eyebrows came together in concern, unconsciously reaching a hand to Cassiopeia’s foot, that was against her thigh, and stroking it softly.

“Oh my...” Tracey’s eyes travelled through the baby. “Is she okay now?”

“Well,” Robin kept her arms protectively around the littlest one. “It’s going to take her months to fully recover, but she’s getting better. So you said Cormoran’s quitted?”

“That’s what I heard. Poor thing...” Tracey cupped the baby’s cheeky face.

“It must be a mistake, he would’ve told me. We’re... dating,” said Robin. Tracey nodded in understanding.

“I don’t work in the NCA so it’s possible I heard wrong.” The sound of keys was heard before the door opened and Strike entered the flat.

“I’m here girls!” then Strike turned around and saw Tracey, who smiled at him. He looked stupefied, and put the bags he was carrying on the floor. “Tracey, hi... what a surprise.” He accepted a brief hug from her and gave Robin a quick peck on the cheek before taking Cassiopeia up in his arms and kissing her cheek.

“I was just coming to check why have I been told you quitted the NCA.”

“Is that true, Cormoran?” Robin asked raising an eyebrow towards him. “You quitted?” Strike sighed and then nodded. “Why?”

“Because Cassiopeia needs me here and because I hated it, Robin, I was always too exhausted to really be present for her and now she’s very delicate and here’s the only place I want to be. With her.” Cassiopeia was just using a hand to grip the bit of black mane coming from the neck of his shirt and he hissed at a particularly hard pull. “I knew you weren’t going to like it.”

“The only thing I dislike is having to hear from someone else and not from you,” argued Robin. “If you want to quit your job that’s none of my business, and besides, you’re doing what you think is best for Casey so why wouldn’t I support it?” Robin stood up and moved aside. “I’m going to put things in the kitchen and start the laundry.” Said Robin grabbing the bags Strike had left and heading to the kitchen. Strike nodded and scooped Cassiopeia closer.

“So...” Tracey shrugged. “How’s the nugget?” Strike looked at Cassiopeia.

“She seems fine,” said Strike. “Hopefully will stay like that.”

“Are you sure money won’t be a problem? You seemed quite desperate three months ago.”

“Well...” Strike sighed. “I needed for a good father to remind me what truly matters for a kid. We may never be rich... but I think we’ll be pretty well.”

**. . .**

After Tracey had gone, Strike put Cassiopeia to do tummy time –something they were now super careful with- and went to the kitchen, where Robin was busy cooking. He hugged her from behind, feeling her exhaustion mix with his own, and kissed her shoulder.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, won’t happen again,” said Strike. Robin sighed.

“Are you back to be a detective full time?” asked Robin.

“I may not be completely full time until Cassiopeia goes to nursery but... as much as she lets me, yes.”

“Good,” Robin leaned against him. “Then you can start taking naps in the afternoon while I take Cassiopeia to the park or something. You need to sleep.” Strike smiled big, feeling very fond of Robin.

“You’d do that for me?” he asked excitedly. Robin turned around and looked intently at him, serious.

“I’d do anything for you.” Strike was mesmerized, his eyes fixed on hers intently.

“Good,” said Strike in a whisper, leaning towards her. “Because I would too, for you.” Their lips crashed together passionately and Strike had turned the stove off and lifted Robin onto the counter, letting her giggle against his lips as his hardness pressed between her legs, before anyone could say ‘wait’. “Do you think we can leave lunch for later?” asked Strike hoarsely between kisses. Cassiopeia started crying and Strike huffed, rolling eyes.

“You should ask your daughter that,” Robin gave him a last peck on the lips with a chuckle and moved away to go see what was wrong with the baby.

“What do I do with my little problem?” Strike shouted towards the sitting room.

“God gave you two hands!” Robin shouted back with a laugh, as Cassiopeia’s crying stopped.

 


	16. Strike's birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starts a bit smutty tho

Every birthday that Strike had ever woken up to in a bed shared with a girlfriend had started with morning sex. However, he wasn’t a father in any of those, so the tradition was forgotten as quickly as Cassiopeia cried at three in the morning and it was  _his_ turn to attend her. Robin had invented a system so Strike could start sleeping at night and dealing with his paternal anxiety, that consisted of them sleeping for, at first, twenty minutes. Every twenty minutes, one of them –first Robin, then Strike, alternating- would get up with the alarm, and check on Cassiopeia before going to sleep. After a few days, when going forty minutes without checking on Cassiopeia (since it would be forty minutes until his turn came again) didn’t give Strike major anxiety and he felt ready for more, they moved from twenty to thirty-five minutes, which meant 70 minutes of sleep. Nowadays they took turns every hour and a half, which meant each of them got three full hours of sleep (which felt like a luxury) before they were to get up again. Fortunately, Cassiopeia’s health kept improving and she was growing stronger, worrying them less, but as the cold season came, so did their over-protection of the three-months-old.

So when the sun finally started to rise, Strike was pleasantly surprised by feeling Robin’s lips around his morning wood as he opened his eyes and looked down, to see the strawberry-blonde haired looking at him with dark, dilated pupils, before getting away from his hardness and climbing to sink him inside of her. He smiled with a moan as Robin leaned to kiss him, guiding his hands to her breasts.

“Oh, happy birthday to me!” Strike grinned as he came out of the shower later in the morning and saw Robin had made his favourite breakfast –with extra bacon- just for him. Robin smiled big at him and gave him a sweet kiss before placing Cassiopeia in his arms.

“Tell daddy happy birthday!” Robin encouraged the little one. Strike smiled sitting down to eat with the baby on his lap. Robin was already dressed, as beautiful as usual.

“Thank you honey. You look stunning,” he complimented her. Robin blushed and nodded, sitting next to him.

“What does my favourite boy want to do for his birthday?” she asked burying a hand in his unruly dark curls and kissing his shoulder.

“Work sounds nice,” said Strike with the mouth full of fried egg. He gulped. “You already made my day, I’m so lucky.” Robin grinned and nodded, starting to eat her breakfast too.

“Tonight there’s dinner at Lucy’s as it’s traditional, in your honour,” Robin reminded him. “Wear those boxers I like so much that hug your arse so nicely.” Added with a wink. Strike blushed and smiled eating her with his eyes.

“Will you wear lingerie?” he asked hoarsely.

“That depends on whether you’re a good boy today or not,” Robin gave him a quick peck on the lips and, putting a biscuit inside her mouth, she left to the kitchen, winking at him over her shoulder with a roguish smile.

“This woman,” Strike murmured, looking at Cassiopeia. “Is going to be the death of daddy,” Cassiopeia gurgled. “Yes indeed...”

The trio arrived at the office and got straight to work while Cassiopeia hung out in the inner office, in the baby floor gym they had bought her now that she had started lifting her head off the ground and was rolling every now and then. Robin had the theory that Cassiopeia was very much like cats and wouldn’t achieve milestones in the public eye. She’d rather just look as if she magically achieved things.

Strike sighed in his seat leaning back and looking at the baby after twenty solid minutes of re-watching camera footage for a case, chuckling as he saw Cassiopeia had rolled over while he wasn’t looking –of course- and was now checking one of these colourful books made of fabric, putting it in her mouth.

“Does it taste good?” Strike asked her. Cassiopeia looked at him and gurgled excitedly. “Boo!”

“Oooo!” Cassiopeia answered in return. Strike snorted a laugh. He loved how communicative the baby tried to be.

Even if now that Cassiopeia was almost four weeks –on Sunday the following week, to be more precise- the physical similarity with Strike was undeniable, she was pretty different in the inside, in a way that reminded Strike of no one really. He had noticed she had an ear for music, and always seemed to be very focused on it when she heard it, even when it was just a siren from a vehicle. He supposed that was natural, as Strike played some instruments, Leda had played instruments, and Rokeby was a musician, it was in her DNA from his side to be good with music, so he tried to encourage that. But then she smiled so much, her serious stage long past, and seemed excited by the smallest of things, which made Strike start seeing the world with different eyes. He had never liked children, yet now, he found himself observing the kid as a case, as one of these mythological creatures that had called his attention so much in Oxford, something that sparked his curiosity and intrigue, and he learned from her. He observed the way flying insects fascinated Cassiopeia, the way the world was a continuous source of fascination for her, and he tried to let the world make him as happy as it made her. He observed how she communicated so much, like cats, moving her eyes, pupils, arms, and even toes as things stimulated her one way or another, how happy Cassiopeia was at night in Robin’s arms holding onto her bright hair, that always stunned her, as Robin sang softly until she fell asleep, he saw how the baby explored her body learning how to roll and lift her head, imitating a technique Strike had known as Feldenkrais, which was all about exploring body movement and basically learning how to do things step-by-step like when baby so you wouldn’t hurt yourself. Was a big thing between disabled people. And Strike found himself mesmerised. It also became quite hard to be his normal serious, sullen person when that baby made him laugh with her silliness –or absolute cleverness- in the most unexpected moments.

Robin had become the expert on picking up ways in which they were alike. Strike didn’t see the resemblance that much, but then he saw the photos Robin sneaked, and he understood. At one picture of Strike asleep sitting on the office’s sofa with Cassiopeia asleep sitting on his lap with her back against his belly, their mouth opened literally the same and their head inclined to the same side, in the same way. And as Robin pointed out, they put the same serious-and-focused expression when something called their attention and intrigued them, their eyebrows almost uniting, their eyes very wide, and their lips slightly parted, with a slight inclination of the head. Robin was, in the end, trained to detect things and observe, so Strike was pleasantly surprised.

“Right,” Robin entered the inner room. “I bought a bottle of white wine for Lucy and Greg, it’s in the fridge. We better leave at lunch because you’re going to need a shower and your suit and I need to get into my party dress and this one,” Robin grinned at Cassiopeia, who did some chirpy sound looking at her. “Has a brand new party dress Aunty Robin bought her.” Robin couldn’t resist kneeling by the baby and blowing raspberries on her belly, making her create a new range of chipy sounds that made Robin giggle. “God you’re so cute and you’re getting so big!” said Robin with her silly voice for babies. She had surprised him making that voice unconsciously a few weeks prior and wouldn’t let him live it down. Strike chuckled at them.

“I’ve been a good boy so...” Strike raised eyebrows suggestively.

“All right... I might not even wear underwear,” Robin raised her eyebrows and his eyes widened, following her as she giggled and went back to her desk outside.

Later in the day, as Strike prepared Cassiopeia’s bag and Robin finished dressing her, he playfully raised Robin’s dress.

“Hey! Pervert!” Robin giggled, trying to kick him.

“You _are_ wearing normal underwear!” said Strike. “You tease!” Robin chuckled.

“Well Nick won’t let me live it down if someone catches me without underwear, so... but my panties are brand new.” Strike snorted a laugh.

“You are the most stunning woman ever, anyways,” opined Strike moving to give her a quick peck. Cassiopeia gurgled and rustled her legs as Robin adjusted her dress. “Someone agrees...”

Robin drove the Land Rover all the way to South London and Bromley, parking by the Magnolia tree.

“You know,” said Strike removing Cassiopeia from the car seat. “I should probably get a car. The Land Rover forces us to put her in the co-pilot seat, and it’s not so safe.”

“You could rent one,” Robin shrugged, walking beside him in her heels. “Or perhaps buy it second-hand?” Strike nodded. “I agree, she needs a safer transport.”

Saluting Greg led to the usual arm slapping, and Lucy came running to the hallway with an apron over her party dress and a smile. She asked about Cassiopeia’s post-surgery recovery as Strike leaned to kiss his short sister’s cheek.

“She’s all right now,” said Strike. “We’re the ones that need to start sleeping through the night without waking up to check on her every five minutes.”

“He is, most certainly,” added Robin, overhearing. She smiled holding Cassiopeia and hugged Lucy, who grinned.

“Ah, look how pretty she is Greg!” Lucy called taking Cassiopeia up in her arms. The baby gurgled and looked excited to be stolen by her aunt.

The boys excitedly greeted them and their cousin, handing Strike the usual handmade cards, before heading to bed. Strike made a point on caring for their lives, encouraged by Robin, who made a point that it would be good for him to grow closer with them so Cassiopeia could have cousins she could hang out with when she was older, instead of wondering why her daddy was ‘such an arse’, as Robin affectionately said with a smile and a kiss on the cheek. They walked then into the sitting room as Lucy and Greg headed to the kitchen.

“Chum!” Strike exclaimed surprised seeing his oldest friend, civil engineer Dave Polworth, get up from the three-piece suit where was sitting with his wife, Penny, and Nick and six-months-pregnant Ilsa.

“Diddy!” Dave grinned big. He was broad, tall, brown-haired and beardy, and had dark blue eyes, and they hugged palming their backs. Robin moved to salute Ilsa and Nick, not knowing the others. “I couldn’t believe it when Ilsa told me you and Lady Berserko had a child!”

“Oh, yeah, my daughter’s being kidnapped by her aunt at the moment,” Strike chuckled. “Talking about daughters where are yours?”

“You asking about my girls? Heard that darling?” Dave laughed towards Penny. “They’re good. Teenagers, you know, we left them in Bristol with their grandparents because they’ve got school. We came for a friend’s wedding and I remembered your birthday is right at the same time so I gave Lucy a call to surprise you!”

“Happy to see you mate. Oh, Robin, come here. This is my oldest friend from nursery, Dave. Dave this is my business partner and girlfriend, Robin,” Strike introduced.

Both Penny and Dave were excited to meet Robin, of whom reportedly they had heard ‘so much about’ –not much from Strike- and who they called ‘finally a normal person’, and after all the greetings had been done, the six sat on the sofas and accepted a drink from Greg, who came with Lucy from the kitchen.

“Well the kids are off to sleep and the lamb is finishing up in the oven,” Lucy announced with Cassiopeia against her hip, sitting beside Penny and kissing the baby cheek soundly. “Gosh so cute!” Cassiopeia had already successfully kidnapped a spoon and was sucking on it, probably because it had had some food Lucy had given her to try.

“Careful, she doesn’t have any teeth yet!” Strike reminded.

“I know, you think I’m new at this?” Lucy joked rolling eyes. Penny was already putting faces at the baby and making her gurgle and do sounds alike giggles.

“Sorry mate, paternity is undeniable,” Dave guffawed. “Look at those curls!”

“Yeah, they’re hard to tame,” Robin smiled at Cassiopeia.

“What’s the name?” Penny asked.

“Cassiopeia,” said Strike proudly.

“Mawes. Cassiopeia _Mawes_ ,” Nick stressed, chuckling. Dave couldn’t keep his roar of laughter in.

“Come on for real?!” he asked rubbing the tears of laughter off his eyes.

“It’s cute!” Strike complained.

“You’re just keeping a tradition of terrible middle names from father to son,” Dave joked.

“Then blame Robin, she’s got a place middle name so I thought it’d be cute,” Strike shrugged.

“Venetia is one thing,” Robin blushed. “Mawes is... well... could be worse though.”

“How?” Dave asked smiley.

“Barrow-in-Furness,” replied Robin automatically, making Strike laugh out-loud. She smiled. “Cassiopeia Barrow-in-Furness Strike. How’s that?” They all laughed and the conversation moved into other suggestions of terrible middle names based on locations, such as ‘Windsor’, ‘Sussex’, ‘Whitechapel’, ‘Croix’ or ‘Antwerp’, between laughter.

“We were very happy to hear you guys finally made it though,” commented Penny looking at the Herberts. “When will we be meeting the littlest one?” she asked with a warm smile.

“February or March,” answered Ilsa beaming, a hand resting over her belly. “They said to expect them early since it’s growing unusually fast.”

“Nothing wrong with it though,” added Nick.

“Another girl?” Lucy asked hopeful. Nick and Ilsa exchanged sneaky smiles.

“Actually...” Nick started.

“It’s a boy,” announced Ilsa. Congrats followed and Strike smiled at his friends.

“Well I’m making him an Arsenal’s fan,” Strike joked.

“Over my dead body!” Nick intervened.

“At least name him Blue,” Strike suggested jokingly. There was laughter and Nick shook his head.

“The name is actually picked, already,” Ilsa chuckled. “It was decided as far as years ago completely by accident and we liked it so much we wrote it down so we wouldn’t forget.” Nick nodded.

“Aidan Cormoran Herbert,” Nick announced. “You’re welcome,” he added looking at Strike, who laughed.

“He’ll be bullied for that, careful!” Strike assured.

“If anyone bullies my kid,” said Ilsa very calmly. “I’ll see them in court.”

“Fear the wrath of the lawyer,” Robin smiled warmly at her friend. Cassiopeia wept suddenly wanting to go to Robin, extending her tiny arms towards her, and Robin effortlessly took her in her arms, putting her cup of wine away from the baby and letting her fidget with a silver bracelet she always wore because Strike gifted it to her by surprise little after Cassiopeia was back home as a birthday present he thought she should have for him now that they were dating and it wouldn’t be weird. Cassiopeia immediately stopped crying and accommodated against the crook of Robin’s neck sleepily as she played with the bracelet, shinny due to the light.

“Oh, crocodile tears!” Greg smiled at the baby. He was actually pretty incredible with children, no surprise Lucy chose to go for big family with him.

“She’s just going to sleep, she does that with the bracelet to bring herself to sleep,” Robin explained, supporting her cheek on the dark curls and keeping the bracelet arm around the baby.

“She _loves_ Robin. Is the only one she’ll take medicines from,” added Strike proudly. Robin smiled a little.

“Have you adopted her, Robin?” Penny asked.

“Oh, no,” Robin shook her head. “It’s pretty early to think about that, Cormoran and I haven’t been together for even two months yet. Cassiopeia is just used to me because she’s always with us at work and everything. She just hangs out in the office with whoever doesn’t have to go out, playing in her floor gym, right?” Robin kissed Cassiopeia’s forehead softly as the baby’s eyelids started to close.

“That and the fact that we live together and Robin takes about as much care of her as I do,” added Strike. “Waking up at night included.” He added looking fondly at Robin. “She’s the main reason the baby is alive, healthy and turning out okay.”

“Oh, nonsense, you do a great job,” Robin blushed, shy.

“Living together already? You didn’t jump into Lady Berserko’s flat so easily,” Dave commented impressed, with his beer in his hand.

“Well it’s a long story actually, just events taking us by surprise one after another,” Strike shrugged. “Robin married in the summer, the husband was a jerk, and they divorced shortly after, right after I had gotten just-born Cassiopeia.”

“Actually my ex and I split then, divorced later,” commented Robin. “But yeah. And I lived at my ex’s flat, so I had nowhere to go and I didn’t know anyone who didn’t know my ex here because I’m from Yorkshire and I’ve just been here for a year and a half, wasn’t that close with Cormoran’s friends and family then, so I went to Cormoran, and he was looking for a bigger place than is micro-attic for Cassiopeia...”

“...And we were both really tight on money, so Robin came up with the idea of moving in together somewhere nice for Cassiopeia, and we got a flat in Soho near the office. It was a great arrangement because together we could afford it, and since we manage the office together it just became part of the joined economy. And she’s been helping with Cassiopeia enormously from day one. I guess it was only natural we ended up dating.” Robin blushed but Strike said it all natural with a shrug to make it less of a big deal. “Besides, Robin is the absolute opposite of Charlotte and a delight to live with and we practically lived together already in the office anyway with how much we work so... she’s neat, she’s familiar with my organisation methods and doesn’t disrupt them, and I’m allowed to smoke in the terrace.”

“By his own initiative because of the baby,” Robin added with a warm smile towards him.

“That’s a merit,” Nick chuckled.

“Well it seems like a nice arrangement,” Penny commented. She was already fond of Robin, just by hearing how everyone talked about her.

“Besides,” Ilsa looked thoughtful at Strike. “If Robin hadn’t been living with you, Cassiopeia...” she made a motion with the shoulder like a half-shrug and Strike felt chills.

“Cassiopeia what?” Dave inquired.

“Might be... not here...” Lucy clarified delicately. Dave frowned.

“What? What happened?”

“She was born with Ebstein’s anomaly, one of the valves of her heart didn’t work properly,” explained Strike in a simple normal-people way. “I was working as a second job at the NCA in the afternoons at the time and no one knew Cassiopeia had that because for some stupid bureaucracy I haven’t been allowed to access any information from the ultrasounds Charlotte took without me even knowing she existed, and she had no symptoms sooner to do the X-Rays and echocardiograms and all those tests. So I had calmly left her with Robin at the flat while I was working.”

“Well actually she was having some coughing but the doctor only took an X-Ray and it came clean, so they thought it was dust or weather change or something unimportant like that,” corrected Robin. “Until I was alone with her and I put her for tummy time, she was two months then so she wasn’t even lifting her head off the ground then... and after a while she was crying, I saw her lips were turning blue, and I rushed her to the hospital. Open heart surgery right away.” Robin cringed at the memory, wrapping her arm tighter around Cassiopeia and kissing the top of her head.

“She was in the hospital for two weeks, until bloody Halloween. Almost gave me a heart attack, the bloody thing, and she’s still obliged to pass monthly revisions at the cardiologist,” commented Strike. He allowed himself to talk about it because he was in the company of his best friends, all parents or about to be parents.

“Christ almighty poor thing...” Penny scowled. “If any of that happened to any of our girls I would’ve freaked out, even more so tiny...”

“Oh I did, believe me,” murmured Strike with a sigh. “But she’s okay now, just reached the six week recovery milestone and the doctor said from now on she should be all good. No more crying in pain without us being able to do anything but drug her up.”

“That’s the worst,” Greg shook his head. “When they get hurt and there’s nothing you can do. And if she’s not crying to tell you what’s going on, even worse.”

“Ugh, remember when Pete had pneumonia?” Lucy shivered looking at her husband.

“Okay you guys are scaring me,” declared Ilsa.

“Oh don’t worry your Aiden will be just fine, his daddy’s a doctor and his mummy can fight his battles for him,” Dave smiled at them. “Kid’s got life all sorted out already!”

“Besides, there’s this magic that when little kids fall down most of the time it’s like they’re sponge balls and nothing happens,” Lucy added with a giggle. “I’m serious, one day at a school party I saw a kid like five years old running down the stairs then, he fell and rolled down the stairs, everyone went running expecting him to be agonizing, his backpack was on top of him and everything, and he got up like ‘what’s the fuzz about?’”

“Thankfully we’ve already baby proofed the entire house,” said Nick with relief. “Unfortunately we did it so good sometimes it makes our lives harder, like when you’re running to the toilet and can’t get it to open.”

“Shit, we haven’t baby proofed the flat and this one is going to be crawling any day now,” Strike looked at Robin all panicked at the sudden realisation, making them laugh.

“Relax Cormoran, there are no stairs in our flat,” Robin laughed.

They moved on to dinner and afterwards they went back to the sitting room and Lucy brought the cake while Greg brought small plates and spoons to eat it. Cassiopeia had woken up and was on Cormoran’s lap as Lucy lowered the cake on the coffee table in front of him. Strike’s eyes widened at the big, homemade, rectangular cake, that said ‘Happy Birthday Newly-Daddy!’, for their jokes and laughter.

“Luce! You did _not_ put thirty-seven candles, did you, crazy woman?” Strike asked scandalised. Lucy frowned.

“Of course I did, counted them myself twice!”

“How do you expect me to blow them all at once?”

“Well then you better start training for when thirty-seven become fifty.”

“Okay... you help me poppet,” Strike commanded Cassiopeia.

Strike had just been given the knife to cut the cake after all the ceremony when Cassiopeia unexpectedly took a handful of the cake and put her whole hand with it in her mouth, making them all laugh hysterically.

“Casey! You don’t even have teeth!” Strike said between laughs using a napkin to clean the baby’s hand. Cassiopeia clumsily ate the cake sucking her fingers and made a face of surprise at the taste, quick to attempt to grab more cake again. Strike resolved this by putting her away in Robin’s arms while he cut the cake and then sharing his piece with Cassiopeia while everyone laughed.

“Oh she’s too cute!” marvelled Penny.

“I’m going to take this as a compliment for my culinary talents,” Lucy winked at her niece, who was busy trying to steal every spoonful of cake Strike took, and whose mouth was already once again full of cake.

 


	17. Christmas

With December came the snow. Robin’s family was pleading for her to come to Masham for the festivities, since she had missed her brother’s wedding in October due to Cassiopeia’s surgery and they hadn’t seen her since the summer, and for the first time in her life Robin realised she now lived in a world where Masham was a choice. Before there was no question; Matthew was from Masham too, their families were there and they never even stopped to think if they’d want to go anywhere else. Now, however, Robin knew she would miss Strike and Cassiopeia if they didn’t come too, but that also Strike might have other Christmas traditions to uphold for his daughter. She had never asked him what his family traditions were with the festivities.

“Uh, Cormoran?” Robin entered the bathroom the first night of the holidays, knowing Strike was bathing Cassiopeia, sitting on the floor next to the tube, inside of which Cassiopeia sat. She was just four months old now.

“Yeah,” Strike didn’t turn around; he was busy washing the little hair Cassiopeia had.

“What plans do you have for Christmas?” Robin sat on the toilet, contemplating them.

“Uhm... I was thinking of introducing Cassiopeia to St. Mawes. I haven’t been there since last Christmas myself and Cassiopeia will probably be thankful to go a bit more down south, you know? Trying to run away from the extreme cold temperatures. She’s still very little and very vulnerable and with her heart I really don’t want her to get sick.” Strike commented things casually as he finished washing Cassiopeia and allowed her to procrastinate playing with her bath toys.

“Oh... my family really wants me to head north, something about renting a cottage and the whole extended family and everything celebrates together. Besides, the cottage will be more up north so I don’t have to see the Cunliffes...” commented Robin. Strike turned to look at her briefly with a small smile and a nod.

“Sounds pretty great, you’re going to love it,” said Strike cheerfully.

“I know the weather up there would be hell for Cassiopeia, I’ll miss you though...”

“Robin...” Strike put the baby into his lap wrapped up in a towel and looked at Robin with a sympathetic expression. “It’s just a couple weeks and we’ve only been together for a couple months, the most normal thing is that each spends Christmas with their own families. I’d usually stay in London but now with Cassiopeia I guess going south will be the new normal, so she can be close with the little family we have. And your family in Masham misses you, you should see them.”

“Okay well... in that case I’ll drive myself up tomorrow morning so I don’t have to drive through the night. How are you going to get to St. Mawes?”

“We’ll go with Ilsa and Nick, they’re leaving tomorrow after lunch.” Strike moved out of the bathroom with Cassiopeia in his arms and Robin followed him, seeing as he put the baby gently on his bed and started putting on her napkins and clothing. He was always so methodical, having exact timings for everything baby related and taking such good care of her. He had gotten the hang of it quite fast.

“Good... so you really don’t mind?”

“Mind what?” Strike looked lost at her. “You having a life of your own? Of course not!” Robin looked relieved. “Robin! Come on, how can you even think that?”

“I’ve never done this before, being with someone who isn’t from Masham so... I don’t know, just trying to figure out how it works.”

“Sweetheart,” Strike smiled warmly at her, scooping Cassiopeia up in one arm and cupping Robin’s hand. “This is how we work. We’re free human beings, we do whatever we want to, we’re no one to tell the other what they’re allowed to do with their own lives and we care for each other’s happiness and well-being. So as long as you’re well, I have no complaints okay? Who knows, if we’re together next Christmas too then perhaps we can think of a plan for the three of us.” Robin blushed and beamed, going to kiss him and Cassiopeia.

“I swear you two are my favourite people,” she declared hugging them both.

“So... do you wanna watch TV and eat pizza?” Strike suggested rising an eyebrow. Robin chuckled.

“You’ve read my mind, mister.”

“Isn’t it too much though? Already living together, with a child? Isn’t it too fast darling?”

The snow hit hard the windows of the nice family cottage outside the city of Richmond. Not the Richmond near London, but the Richmond of the Swale River, the one with the Richmond Castle, the river Swale waterfalls and Easby Abbey. Christmas was freezing cold and the Ellacott clan gathered around a big table full of food with the fireplace on, just talking and catching up, enjoying their company. Robin had expected a lot of questioning about her divorce to Matthew after not even three months of marriage, but she hadn’t expected the amount of questioning about Cormoran, Cassiopeia, and their relationship and living arrangements. Robin’s grandmother was the most concerned, always caring of Robin’s well-being.

“It’s what’s best for everyone grams,” replied Robin insecure. “My economy would be very unstable if I wasn’t sharing a flat and Cormoran’s the most trustworthy flatmate I’ll ever find. He’s incredibly neat, he cooks, he’s organised and skilful, and he makes me feel safer after all that’s happened. And Cassiopeia’s a delight to live with. The child is Cormoran’s, he’s the main responsible of it, to me is just like a niece, someone I’m happy to babysit every now and then and someone I love, okay, it’s unusual to be living with someone I’ve barely been dating for a couple months and his child, but I need this arrangement and they need it too and we’re helping each other. We’re doing very well and we’re very happy with living together, so there’s no need to find another way.”

“As long as you’re happy dear...” her grandma smiled fondly at him. “And he sounds like a really nice guy, the papers talk good of him.”

“He is, you’d love him, right mum? Dad? You’ve met him.”

“Cormoran’s intelligent, a gentleman and full of knowledge and interests about pretty much everything. He’s liberal, open-minded, a wonderful father, a man capable of protecting his people, and he cares the world about Robin, so what else can I ask for?” Michael seemed happy with it, as he ate his lunch with ferocity.

“Besides, Cormoran respects Robin and doesn’t judge her, which is a nice change from Matthew,” added Linda. “He’s very sweet and very kind. I honestly wasn’t expecting for him to be so warm, when I first met him he seemed rather distant and he looks all rough but then he’s all sweet.”

“Exactly,” Robin beamed. “I’m telling you, I’ve hit the jackpot with this one.”

“If all those years with Matthew should serve you for something, it’s to never think you really know someone, Rob,” Stephen, Robin’s eldest and only married brother, opined. His beaming new wife sat next to him. “You’ll never fully know Cormoran, don’t be so naive to think he’s so perfect, come on, be a little mistrustful, just a little. He’s got a dark side you don’t know and you never know when it’s going to come up. He’s full of hidden flaws, just like everyone else.”

“Fine, yeah,” Robin shrugged. “But really, if I hadn’t known him so close for such a long time, I wouldn’t have moved in with him. In just a few months it’s the second year anniversary of the day we met, and we work many hours and have to spend a lot of time together, so I’ve gotten to know him pretty well. I will be more cautious though, Stephen’s right...”

Once lunch was over, Robin left to her bedroom to rest for a little bit, or so was the excuse she put, when in reality she was just going to Facetime Strike and Cassiopeia. Strike’s face appeared to her view with a smile and Cassiopeia sleeping in his arms.

“Merry Christmas!” the pair wished at once, cheerful.

They spoke for a long time, just talking about their holidays so far, in a low voice as to avoid waking Cassiopeia up, laughing into each other’s ears and saying sweet words of how they couldn’t wait to be reunited again, until they hung up and Robin couldn’t help the smile in her face.

 


	18. So what's wrong?

Strike and Robin made an agreement to come back to London in the first week of January, after New Year’s Eve. Strike would come a couple days before her to take care of some payments they had to start the year with and Robin would be there just a few days later so she could be with her family until everyone had to start leaving. They had been in contact the entire holidays and Robin found her heart feeling warmer, instead of the cold she imagined that would come with being without Matthew for the first Christmas since she was a teenager.

The day before Robin had to drive back to London she was back with her family in Masham, packing her things while the snow fell outside, one of the first snowfalls of January, when her phone started ringing on top of the duvet of the bed she had had since her teenage years. Excited thinking it was Strike, the strawberry-blonde practically threw herself onto the duvet and grabbed the phone so quickly she didn’t stop to see who was calling, pressing it to her ear.

“Hello stranger,” she started enthusiastically.

“Robin? It’s Ilsa,” Robin frowned as she detected Ilsa’s tone of voice. It was one she had never heard before, and it sounded as she was about to cry. Robin felt the bile rise to her throat.

“Ilsa, what’s wrong?” Ilsa let a long breath out that did nothing to calm Robin’s anxiety.

“Cormoran’s was attacked early in the morning. They kidnapped Cassiopeia.” Robin’s eyes widened and she felt about to really throw up.

“I’ll be there as fast as I can.”

Robin felt her heart about to exit her chest as she quickly packed the last of her things and ran, panicking, downstairs.

“Mum! Dad!” Robin shouted looking around. She finally found her parents on the sofa, the family dog, Rowntree, sleeping next to them on the ground of the sitting room as her family watched TV. “Something terrible happened. Ilsa called me, she says Cormoran’s been attacked and that who did it took Cassiopeia away. I need to go.”

Her family soon was as anguished as her and rushed to help her throw everything into the battered Land Rover and promised to get ready and be right behind her, at least her parents. Robin drove in panic trying not to cause an accident for the speed. It was barely nine in the morning, the attack had to be way earlier. Had they assaulted their flat? Had they surprised Strike and Cassiopeia in the park? In the office? And most importantly, where was Cassiopeia? Who had her? The fear of losing Cassiopeia made tears come into her eyes as she hit the pedal, the permanent anguish that something had occurred to her.

Ilsa had texted her the address of the hospital where everyone was reunited. Strike had to be freaking out, Robin couldn’t even imagine. It was the University College hospital, which meant the attack was, as Robin had suspected, near the office or the flat, since it was their closest health centre.

After so many hours of driving Robin didn’t even feel hungry. She called Ilsa as she got out of the car and they agreed to meet in the hospital cafeteria, so she went there rushing through the hospital corridors. She found Ilsa alone looking shaken up and drinking a glass of water sitting on a table.

“Robin,” Ilsa hugged her closely. “Lucy and Nick left with a bunch of our friends and family to put posters of Cassiopeia, to see if anyone sees her. Wardle has everyone looking for her.” She sounded exhausted. They separated and Robin looked at her full of concern.

“Where’s Corm? He must be going crazy...”

“He doesn’t know,” Robin frowned. Ilsa pulled her to sit next to her and took another sip of her water before looking at Robin full of sadness. Robin’s heart beat painfully.

“Ilsa...” Robin whispered, shaking her head.

“He is alive,” Ilsa assured, and Robin felt herself somewhat relieved. “But he took quite the beating. He fought really hard for Cassiopeia... but we suspect he was outnumbered. The NCA is investigating too and they said it looks like he was attacked by at least six people at once. He’s full of cuts and bruises and he’s got rib fractures and... well... they hit his head. Hard. The skull is slightly depressed in one side.”

“Oh my...!” Robin covered her mouth with her hands, her eyes wide. “Please tell me he’s all right...” she murmured under her hands.

“A passerby found him on the street behind the office building, having seizures on the ground, the stroller and baby bag thrown on the ground,” Ilsa explained. “They took him in for neurosurgery and repaired his skull and the bleeding inside his brain, but he’s in medically-induced coma and they don’t know how he’ll be when he wakes up. He could be paralysed or... unable to speak or...” Ilsa shrugged, shaking her head.

Robin felt her face lose all the colour and she leaned forward, supporting her head on her hands.

“This cannot be happening, this had to be a nightmare...” Robin whispered for herself time and time again. “I need to see him.” Robin said finally, raising her head up.

Ilsa nodded and guided her to the corridors past a doctor who knew her because of their friendship to Nick and let them into another room with several glass walls that were sliding doors if you had the medical pass to enter them. The two women stood behind one of them, looking at Strike lying on a bed, motionless. Robin felt her eyes fill with tears and she took a shaky breath.

“I need to find Casey.”

Robin then rushed to the place where Strike had been attacked. Police had already cleared it out, since it had been over six hours since the attack, but Robin still felt anger and chills as she spotted a few dry drops of blood on the floor. She also spotted a poster with a recent photo of Cassiopeia with her fists full of cake and her lips forming an ‘o’, her beautiful eyes wide open and her eyebrows slightly raised, the little dark hair over her head. It was all in colour. The poster read:

‘ **KIDNAPPED BABY’**

**Cassiopeia M. Strike / Born August 4** **th** **2011 – Kidnapped on January 5** **th** **2012 in the area of Denmark Street, London City after she and her father, Detective Cormoran Strike, were brutally attacked. Cassiopeia doesn’t have a mother, just her father and his family, and they’re looking for her. She’s brunette, with short curly hair as shown in the picture, gray-ish eyes, and is 0-. She knows how to roll over and she babbles. She’s just starting to grow some teeth.**

**SHE’S GOT A CARDIAC CONDITION AND EVERY MINUTE SHE’S NOT WITH HER FAMILY SHE’S IN LIFE-THREATENING DANGER.**

**IF SEEN: Report to 999 or to Strike & Ellacott’s Agency. If given the chance, please care for the baby until any of them arrive to pick her up, DO NOT ABANDON HER.**

**Please help. She’s got a big family who loves her and is worried about her.**

 

Robin let a long sigh out with her eyes full of tears and sped to the office. She had the office’s calls redirected to her mobile and she had also gotten Strike’s phone from Ilsa. As far as she knew, Greg, Lucy, Nick, Shanker, and many other friends and family of them were looking for Cassiopeia all around London putting posters and everything. Shanker even had his gang to make sure she was found, so now Robin had to sit and think. She had to find whoever had the baby before she suffered more than so far.

Two names quickly came to her mind: Whittaker and Campbell. Robin sat on the chair by her desk and quickly turned on her computer and searched ‘Jago Ross’. Then her eyes travelled through the list of results.

“Jago Ross accused of abuse by wife in posthumous document... Jago Ross avoids prison with a fine of £500000... Restraining order forbids Ross from ever contacting or approaching late wife’s daughter...” Robin shook her head thoughtful as her eyes travelled lower through the screen. Apparently Ross was now in New York City. She tried another name, ‘Elizabeth Campbell’. “Charlotte’s Ross mother seeks custody of only granddaughter... bitch...” Robin murmured under her breath, typing ‘Cormoran Strike’. Amongst the many results related to the NCA or their cases and the army, she had to narrow her eyes for the ones related to Cassiopeia. “London’s most famous detective vows to comply with late fiancée’s last wishes... Strike vs. Campbell & Ross; Former Sergeant puts Charlotte Campbell’s daughter away from her people... arses...” Robin sighed leaning back in her chair and stroking her sinuses before typing one again, this time, ‘Jeff Whittaker’. “Diplomat Sir Randolph Whittaker, grandfather of criminal and musician Jeff Whitaker, dies of heart failure...” Robin clicked on the article to read it fully. “...Sir Whittaker was admitted in the hospital after a stroke on January 2nd and passed away in his sleep the next day, in today’s early morning... he leaves behind grandson Jeff Whittaker and great-grandson, 18-year-old Switch LaVey Bloom Whittaker, who is son of Jeff Whittaker and model and groupie Leda Strike, and who is expected to continue his studies in Cambridge, inheriting the total of Sir Whittaker’s patrimony, after being in his care since he was two years old.”

Robin frowned. This had happened recently, and she remembered how Strike had insisted that Whittaker had killed, that he hated his guts... Whittaker was violent and had a gang of people willing to kick Strike’s arse and hurt him where it hurt the most; Cassiopeia. On the other hand, there was a half-brother who was probably very angry at Strike after having been raised far from his mother’s family. With that in thought, she typed ‘Switch LaVey Bloom Whittaker’.

“Leda Strike’s youngest son loses great-grandfather Sir Randolph Whittaker too...” she clicked and then read. It was about the funeral, occurred a couple of days prior. “...The youngest Whittaker was the only one of Strike’s children to not pass into the care of Leda’s family after her death and father Jeff Whittaker imprisonment, unlike elder siblings Cormoran and Lucy Strike, who passed into the care of their maternal family. Switch was, on the other hand, left aside and into Sir Whittaker’s care, and has lived a different life full of luxuries and strained from his mother’s family, who never asked for his custody, caring only for the two elders. Switch L. B. Whittaker just started a career at Cambridge University last autumn and seems like he’s interested in being a diplomat too instead of following into the musical and starlight lives of his parents. He’s just interrupted his studies this week to attend his great-grandfather’s funeral and commemorations...” Robin stopped reading and scrolled down for the pictures.

There, in front of her eyes, appeared the different photos of the service, and her breath caught as she noticed immediately who the boy was. He was a masculinised version of Leda Strike. His face was thinner, his eyes marmoset like Leda’s, his hair was elegant and neat in dark waves, and there was a bit of stubble covering his face. He looked sincerely sad but at the same time, there was something about him that gave Robin chills, like an air of coldness and loneliness of someone who doesn’t need people and doesn’t want people. He wore an elegant suit and his father, Jeff, was nowhere to be seen.

Following a hunch, she decided it was time to meet the Whittakers again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter and thanks for the comments and support!
> 
> If you like to, you can follow me in my tumblr https://thetrunkofthenighttraveler.tumblr.com/ where I basically post about Cormoran Strike and its actors, quotes, bits of Harry Potter and a tiny bit of Krashlyn (two USWNT players that are lesbian TOGETHER).
> 
> Hugs to you all!


	19. VS Whittakers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anyone who gives me spoilers on Lethal White will receive a distance hug and special mentions. Love me some spoilers.

With all the research she had on the Whittakers and their homes across the country in her purse, Robin decided before going to encounter them, she needed a word with Lucy, and she met with the ‘search team’ at Lucy and Greg’s for dinner. The Marlow boys had just gone to bed and everyone between the adults looked exhausted and filled with concern, barely touching their plates.

“Lucy,” Robin called her attention. “What do you know of Switch? Your little brother...” Lucy first looked at her like she didn’t understand and then she nodded slowly.

“Not much,” said Lucy, taking a breath and leaning back against her seat. “He was born on March... the 15th, I believe, on 1993, not very long after my mum married that twat. I was sixteen and I didn’t live with them so...” she shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you.”

“I think Whittaker could be after this, and Switch’s great-grandpa, who was caring for him, just passed away, so I think it’s very likely they’re working together. Whittaker hates Cormoran’s guts and Switch may hate him for leaving him alone with an old guy who, for what Whittaker had to say of his grandfather, may not have treated him nicely since Jeff always hated his grandfather to. Cormoran is the big brother, maybe Switch thinks he should’ve cared for him too, maybe he feels abandoned and is eager to help his father have revenge on someone they both hate. So if you knew anything...” Lucy sighed.

“I guess...” said Lucy tiredly. “I always thought leaving him behind was the right thing. I didn’t know there were doubts about how nice his great-grandfather was, my family and I just thought he’d be surrounded by luxuries and a great life and things Cormoran and I never had. And no one really knew him. Whittaker never let my mum bring Switch to St. Mawes so we could meet him, and I wasn’t willing to go anywhere near Whittaker either. I’ve got a bunch of pictures somewhere... because mum used to send them all the time. She was thrilled to have a third child... she said it was the perfect number, that we were her top three forever,” her lip trembled and she looked down. Robin felt sad for her and didn’t interrupt with more questions. Strike always said one had to know when not to ask more questions. “My mum always had interest that Cormoran, Switch and I were close, she thought we could be as close to Switch as we were between us,” continued Lucy when she felt ready. “Cormoran knew him because he still lived with them then, but he used to be annoyed by babies and then by Whittaker, so he limited himself to helping around the house since Whittaker was rarely home and left mum to do all the job. All she knows about babies is from then, let me tell you, but he doesn’t like to talk about it. Switch was six or seven months old when Cormoran left... so he won’t remember him. Cormoran was the only one to go back in the holidays and be more in contact with Switch. I wanted to meet him and see my mum... but the fear and disgust towards Whittaker was too much. Cormoran would tell me about him when he came to St. Mawes.”

“And you never tried to meet him when your mum...?” Robin asked softly, trying not to sound like the police. Lucy shrugged.

“I started university right then,” said Lucy. “I didn’t have time for anything. Just a week, that was all, I came here, helped where I could, Cormoran left and I went off to Uni. I barely met Switch at the funeral. My mum hadn’t modified her will to accommodate Switch, so he automatically passed to Whittaker and when he was imprisoned, automatically went to the great-grandpa. When my family and I discussed whether Ted and Joan should adopt him or not, since Cormoran and I didn’t have the means to adopt an infant, it was thought the kid was better off with the diplomat. Later on we just decided to forget about him because he’s a Whittaker, that’s all he knows and trying to make contact now that we’re older would just disrupt his life. I guess he might be mad, now that you mention it... but for God’s sakes, I was nineteen and Cormoran twenty-one, who were we to care for him? We were going through enough and...” she shook her head. Greg patted her thigh affectionately. “Life’s always been hectic for us and we did the best we could with what we had. We moved on and we thought it was better for everyone that way. If we had gone back to contact Switch once we were older, when he was just a teenager... he wouldn’t have understood, and he would’ve probably just become a rebellious child. I don’t think he ever knew the shit that went down with his parents, and he’s better off that way. I pray no one ever told him who his father is.”

“I don’t think anyone can blame your family for leaving him with Sir Whittaker,” said Robin in an attempt to make her feel a little better. Lucy looked appreciatively at her.

“So you think he and his father plotted to revenge on Cormoran by taking Casey?” Greg asked with a frown. Robin looked thoughtful.

“I can’t swear it, I have no idea if Switch even knows his dad... but I’m going to find out. Actually Lucy... can you lend me one of those pictures?”

The next day and after an anxious night awake in tears looking at photographs of Strike and Cassiopeia, Robin was doing more research in the office when she got a phone call of an unknown number. Thinking someone might’ve found Cassiopeia, she was quick to attend the phone-call.

“Robin Ellacott...”

“I’m Lavey Whittaker,” a voice that reminded slightly of Strike, but softer, said. “If you want to see the baby again, come to my grandpa’s manor in one hour. Call the police, and she’s dead.”

“How do I know this isn’t a tramp?” Robin asked frowning.

“You don’t.” And he hung up.

Heart beating fast, Robin grabbed her car keys and ran for the Land Rover. The manor was in the outsides of London and Robin almost didn’t make it on time with the traffic. She had had time at the office to investigate the Whittakers in deep and she had found out Switch seemed to be as bright as his older brother. He had an impeccable record, only seemed to be bad at literature and arts, but exceeded at science and music. He was studying physics in university and his grades were pretty good. She arrived to Croydon parking by a huge garden near an enormous manor, and to her surprise, found the main door opened and Switch stood there with a cold smile and sad eyes.

“Hello Ms Ellacott. Welcome to my home,” he said politely, offering her a hand.

“Where is she?” Robin ignored his hand, containing herself to avoid killing him.

“She is alive, don’t worry. Here,” they walked inside a house full of soft old carpets looking new, elegant statues and expensive paintings. There was no trace of house service as they approached a room in the first floor, and there sat Jeff Whittaker a knife at hand and Cassiopeia on his knees, sitting. She was sniffling, all upset, but seemingly too afraid to cry out-loud. When she saw Robin, however, she extended her tiny arms towards her and cried loud, but Robin didn’t need to be told that one bad move and the baby would be murdered.

“Give her to me,” Robin demanded firmly, despite the fear she felt inside. She hadn’t dared to carry anything but her rape alarm in case they caught her and killed Cassiopeia. Jeff laughed. “She’s an innocent little girl, she’s only four months old and you probably didn’t even feed her. Please, she’s done nothing to you.”

“Her father has,” Whittaker replied standing up. “Thanks to him I lost my only son, my life... it was easy to put me in prison later when I had in my record a bloody trial for murder, thanks to him. It’s only fair he loses his child too.”

“Switch...” Robin looked at the teenager with pleading eyes. “She’s your niece. Please... please...”

“I’m sorry,” Switch looked pale and looked down. “My family abandoned me. I don’t have a niece... but it’s still not too late to have a father.”

“You’re going to make me so proud, son. Now come.” Switch obeyed and Whittaker handed him the child. “Throw her down the window. Our friend here will be the messenger to our dear Cormoran, while we run away after this.”

“What?” Switch looked horrified. “I can’t do that! I thought you’d do it!”

“Do you want my love or not?” Whittaker growled. “Do it and make me proud. We will get away together, with your money we can go anywhere. We’ll have the happy life of father and son they stole from us, what we always wanted.” He added in a softer tone. Switch had lost all the colour from his face and nodded slowly, holding the crying baby. “Go. Her cries are irritating me.” Switch nodded and walked slowly to a window, opening it with shaky, sweaty hands. Robin had never felt so anxious and felt her heart drumming hard in her chest.

“No! No, Switch, look at me!” she roared. Switch stopped and looked at her with a broken expression full of terror. “You look just like your mother. Did nobody ever tell you?” he observed her, petrified, and shook his head slowly. “You look just like her. I’ve heard she gave the best hugs. Your sister told me your mum used to call you her favourite top three forever.” Robin said with a shaky voice. “This man killed her, Switch. Don’t pay it on her only granddaughter. Leda loved you.... she loved you so much...”

“Do it damn it!” Whittaker roared approaching him with the knife, impatient. “Don’t listen to her lies!” But Whittaker junior stood there, afraid and unsure.

“Switch,” Robin called his attention again, putting the picture Lucy had given her from her pocket and holding it for Switch to see. It was 18-year-old Strike holding a baby in his arms with a small smile, as his mother hugged them both and kissed him on the cheek. “Your mummy loved you. Your brother loves you... And they are dying to see you again, I was just talking with your sister last night about you and how much she’s always wanted to meet you but thought you were better off without them. You can come with me and give your brother his child back, and meet your sister and reconnect with all your family. You can still have part of what that man has stolen,” she pointed to Whittaker. “But if you hurt that baby girl, there’s no going back. No one will ever forgive you. Your mother will never forgive you. You will become a cruel murderer... and I doubt Leda Strike birthed anything but three wonderful people. It’s not too late to do the right thing... give me the baby, Switch.”

Switch nodded with tearful eyes and scooped the baby close to his body, walking towards Robin.

“No!” Whittaker threw himself on Robin and they fought, Robin dodging his knife by little as they wrestled on the ground.

“Stop! I’ll do it!” Switch yelled suddenly. To Robin’s horror, when Whittaker and she looked up, Switch was hanging Cassiopeia over a balcony in the other side of the room. Cassiopeia cried hysterically.

“No!” Robin roared, trying to get rid of Whittaker.

 


	20. Lavey the saviour

“Get off her and I will do it. I promise I will let her fall,” Switch said looking at Whittaker. “Let the woman go.” Whittaker grinned and nodded, standing up and grabbing Robin, who resisted, but Whittaker slapped her.

“Go before I personally knife you three!” Whittaker shouted. He had a broken lip and swollen eye, thanks to Robin. Robin took a last look at Switch over Whittaker’s shoulder, and saw him wink and mouth ‘don’t worry, run’.

“Fine,” Robin, despite feeling as if the pain would kill her, moved to the door. Just before she left the room she turned and saw Switch press the baby against his chest and jump off the balcony, and she ran, she ran like she had never ran, practically flew over the stairs jumping to get out of the house and into the area where she thought they had fallen, all while shouting at her phone for the police to come.

She finally exited into a garden, hearing baby cries, and laughing-crying in relief, saw how Switch got out of a big swimming pool holding the baby to his chest. Robin ran to them.

“I think she’s alright, it was very fast and I shielded her!” Switch shouted as Robin ran to them and hugged them both. “Here...” as Robin pulled apart, Switch handed her Cassiopeia. After checking her and making sure she was fine, Robin wrapped the baby up in her jumper and held her close to her chest, crying.

“When I catch you, you’re all dead!” Whittaker roared from the balcony over their heads.

“You better hurry up then because I’m seeing police right now! Here! Here!” Switch waved his arms in the air looking inside the house, where Whittaker couldn’t see. It was enough to freak Whittaker out and they saw him disappear. “This way!” Switch rushed Robin, and they ran around the house through the garden and into the street, flopping inside Robin’s Land Rover.

“Grab my coat,” Robin instructed, handing it to him. “And please take her so I can drive.” Robin was full of adrenaline, no longer crying and ready for the action. Switch quickly wrapped himself, all soaked, with her long beige coat, and took the baby, wrapping it with the coat too. Robin hit the pedal and they were soon running away. “How did you do that? It was nuts!”

“Oh, I did it all the time, all my life. It used to drive Pops crazy,” Switch grinned smug. “Sorry for the scare though. Thanks for rescuing me... he came when Pops died and he’s my dad, I just trusted him and... I didn’t know what he has done... I’m not sure what’s going on. Who are you? Is it true he killed mum? How do you know?”

“I’m Robin Ellacott, a private detective, long-time business partner of your brother and his girlfriend and flatmate,” she introduced, grinning at him at a red light. “I don’t know Whittaker much but your brother is the best detective in England, if he says Whittaker killed your mum, he did it. He’s got a big criminal record for drugs and assault, I’ve seen him be so violent with his lovers he broke her nose, he’s a druggie and has a gang and was only with your mum because he thought your siblings’ fathers, who are two famous musicians, gave her tons of money. It wasn’t true, your mum lived in poverty with you three. Whittaker also hid a dead girlfriend in his flat for a month once, and the thing your family says is that he killed Leda with drugs after convincing her to put him in her will. He thought he’d be rich then, but there was nothing much to inherit. Then he was condemned for some other crimes and you passed to your great-grandfather’s custody. Your mum’s relatives thought you’d be perfect because he was rich right? They thought you’d have everything, while they didn’t have so much to offer. And they had never met you because of your dad, so they thought you’d be better with someone they thought you already knew and loved more and was rich and everything, you know? And your siblings were really young and struggling a lot, so...”

“Relax,” Switch stopped Robin’s rambling with a smile. Cassiopeia was no longer crying and just looked around like startled. “What happens now?”

“We’re going to my flat, I’ll dry your clothes while you get a warm shower and I’ll change Cassiopeia too and grab her things, call a friend in the police, tell him everything. Then we’ll go to the hospital, get Cassiopeia checked out, meet with your family. Cormoran is gravely injured thanks to Whittaker. He’s in coma.”

“What?!” Switch’s smile dropped. Robin nodded, her eyes on the road as she hurried to the flat. “But... what?!”

“How else do you think he got a hold of Cassiopeia uh?”

“That’s her name?”

“Yes,” Robin smiled small. “Cassiopeia Mawes Strike. Cassiopeia was one of your mother’s favourite names for girls... and Mawes is for St. Mawes, where your family is from.”

“Am I from there too?”

“I think you’re a Londoner mate... but don’t worry. You look just like Leda and you just did the bravest thing I’ve witnessed in a while, something your brother would’ve done. You’re a Cornishman to the bones.” Switch grinned.

**. . .**

“Ready?” Robin smiled warmly at Switch. He was almost as tall as her, a bit less broad than Strike, with his dark hair and his mother’s eyes, and a stubbly face. He actually resembled young Strike a little, although his features were more in harmony, more objectively attractive and pretty, as if he had been perfectly sculpted. He was thin and fit and had a swimmer’s back. He was also hairy. While he took a warm shower and dried drinking a warm tea, Robin had dried his clothes and shoes in the drier and now he was all set. She had already called police and Cassiopeia was all ready sleeping in her stroller.

“Yeah...” Switch nodded. “I’m a bit nervous though. How’s my family?” Robin grinned, fixing his hair a little with a hand.

“They’re the best people you’re ever going to meet,” answered Robin sincerely. “Although they had a very humble, tough upbringing, so you may notice that... There’s your sister, Lucy. She looks nothing like you too, all like her dad. She’s got a husband, Greg, and three little boys, Simon, Jack and Peter.”

“I’ve got nephews?” his eyes widened and he grinned.

“Yeah,” Robin chuckled. “Your brother’s best friends are old family friends and Cassiopeia’s godparents, so you will see them around a lot too; they’re family. Nick and Ilsa Herbert, a gastroenterologist and a lawyer, if you ever need one,” she winked happily. She had such sense of relief now that she felt just cheerful. “Then your mum had a big brother, Ted, who’s married to Joan. They live in St. Mawes but they should be here already to see Cormoran, they’re the ones who raised him and Lucy up.” Switch nodded excitedly.

“Can I ask you something?” Switch asked shyly. Robin smiled and nodded. “Just call me Lavey. I’ve always hated Switch, will change my name someday to have it out.” He giggled nervously. Robin chuckled.

“Sure thing Lavey. Talking about your name... your mum adored Eric Bloom, he’s a musician. Or was, I don’t know.” Lavey grinned.

“Really? That’s why he named me Bloom?”

“Yeah,” Robin smiled warmly. “I think maybe now your name is not so ugly?”

“Rather cool!” he grinned. “So let’s go!”

Cassiopeia’s paediatrician determined she was perfectly fine, if anything a bit dehydrated, but Robin had already given her a bottle of formula and some soup for babies, so it was all right. Then they went to Strike. Lavey stood in front of the glass looking at his brother with sad eyes and Robin took Cassiopeia and hugged her close to her chest as she did the same.

“I didn’t want to kill her,” said Lavey after a few minutes of silence. His voice sounded low and soft. “I didn’t even know who she was. I’ve never hurt anyone in my life and if I had know he was going to ask me that... I wouldn’t have gotten close to him at all.”

“What happened?” Robin asked him softly, furrowing her brow. Lavey sighed.

“A couple days ago, I was visiting my gramps’ grave when Whittaker came in. Gramps had told me that my father died young, we never talked about him... but I found him on the internet years ago and my gramps said that he was just protecting me because my dad was a dangerous criminal, so I vowed to stay away from him. But I recognised him from seeing him on the internet,” Lavey explained, turning to face her. “He came telling me Cormoran killed mum, saying I had siblings who abandoned me... I didn’t know any of that. He said he wasn’t what everyone said either. I had never known anything about mum’s family, there aren’t pictures of me before mum died at home. Gramps didn’t know her and he said she died when I was a baby. Whittaker managed to make me think we could be a family, and after losing my gramps... I was easy to convince, understandably. But he said he wanted revenge. That we had to punish Cormoran for killing mum, for abandoning me and for putting Whittaker away from me. This morning he came with this baby and told me to call you and what I had to say. He said the baby was important for you and that you were essential for Cormoran to suffer. He never said what would happen to the baby. I thought you were her mum... you are, right?”

“No,” Robin kissed Cassiopeia’s forehead. “But as if I was. I love her like I birthed her, and I’m the closest she knows to a mum.” Lavey nodded in understanding.

“I’m so sorry for causing so much trouble...”

“No, not at all, this isn’t your fault, Lavey. This has nothing to do with you, you were just caught in the middle.”

“Whittaker ran away, what now?”

“Police will find him, also a family friend,” said Robin thinking of Shanker. “Don’t worry about it. He’s a rat. He’ll hide.”

“Why does Whittaker hate Cormoran so much?”

“Because Whittaker is a sociopath and a psycho, and I studied psychology, I know,” Robin smiled small. “Whittaker hated anything that stole Leda’s attention from him, which includes you and Cormoran. And Cormoran was the only one confronting him so he’d treat his family right, the only one standing up to his abuse and misbehaviour and the only one stopping him from doing the fuck he wanted. The moment Cormoran was gone to university thinking he had left someone to protect Leda for him, Whittaker killed her, the protector failed...” she shrugged sadly. “Cormoran’s been trying to imprison Whittaker for that ever since, without success. Whittaker is a criminal, Lavey. That’s why you never went into his custody, ever.”

“Makes sense,” Lavey nodded. “It’s also why gramps rejected him, right? He’d rather think his grandson was dead.” Robin nodded.

“For the little I know, you had a grandmother, Whittaker’s mum. She was schizophrenic, ran away from home, at some point she died. But your maternal family is great... and hey, you have something in common with all your siblings, stranded and crazy paternal families who didn’t care enough for them.” Robin added sympathetically. Lavey’s stomach growled and they chuckled. They had eaten a bit of lunch at home, but now it was almost dinner time. They had already had lunch very late.

“I’m sorry but I think I can’t visit my brother for much longer,” Lavery looked sadly at Strike. “I’m really hungry again...”

“It’s almost dinner time. Come on, Lucy texted me they’re all at her house and we’re invited for dinner. They’re dying to see Cassiopeia and well... to meet you.”

“Me too, Robin,” Lavey smiled sincerely. “Me too.”

 


	21. A bird versus a twat

Lavey was stiffing back yawns as Robin parked them by the house. He had shaven at the flat and his dark eyes scanned his surroundings, feeling instantly a homey warmth he had never quite felt at his huge manor as he walked beside Robin past the magnolia tree. It was pretty late and dark, they had had to stop to talk to the police, but now it was all set for them to eat, finally.

“What if they don’t like me?” Lavey said, insecure, as they approached the front door.

“Oh, they’ll love you, don’t worry. You’re not going to be best pals from minute one but...” Robin looked confident, Cassiopeia awake and looking around as she rested against her hip. “Lucy is a big family person. The kind to know all birthdays and celebrate... Cormoran is weirder, more like a soft ogre,” she smiled. “But the Strikes have soft hearts by definition. Don’t worry.”

They were received by Greg, who was glad to see Cassiopeia and who accepted Lavey by shaking his hand, and then they walked inside the house, into a sitting-dining room full of family pictures and of people, since it was crowded with everyone who had been going nuts to find Cassiopeia until Robin had called Lucy announcing she had the baby. Everyone quickly ran to see Cassiopeia, who was happy to see her people and was gurgling and awing, making cute excited noises. Robin could tell she was also looking for Cormoran. It was Lucy who first spotted Lavey, as she handed Cassiopeia to Ilsa after having filled her face with kisses. Lucy looked shocked at Lavey, her eyes widening for how much she looked like her mum. For one moment it was like looking at her, until the masculinity of Lavey kicked in, and her heart leaped.

“You,” Lucy breathed out looking at Lavey intently, so much that he blushed. Everyone then turned to look at the boy. The ones who had seen Leda immediately looked surprised, spotting the resemblance.

“Lucy, it’s time for you to meet your little brother,” Robin grinned. “Lavey, this is your sister.” Lavey smiled warmly at Lucy, standing in front.

“I’ve been dying to meet you, sis,” said Lavey cheerfully. A big grin made his way into Lucy’s face slowly and Lucy wrapped the boy in her arms, hugging her tightly. Lavey chuckled as he hugged her back.

“Welcome to the family,” said Lucy as they pulled apart, motherly cupping his face. “Jesus, you look so much like mum...”

“I’m sorry for what my father’s done. I never knew,” Lavey blurted out. “I promise you I’d never hurt our family.” Lucy looked curious at him and she shook her head, furrowing her eyebrows very slightly. She was as tall as Lavey.

“I know, you’re my brother,” she said simply, with a matter-of-factly tone. “And you have nothing to be sorry for, it’s not your fault your dad’s a jerk... good news is, chances are you’re close to nothing like him. You’ve got two siblings with not-so-good fathers and we’re not much like them... aside from the appearance, if anything.” She gestured to herself and chuckled. “Please, come in, sit, let me give you some food, you must be starving...”

Ten minutes later they were all sitting and eating cheerfully, showering Cassiopeia in affection and greeting Lavey warmly. They explained the day’s events and there was some talk about how Strike was doing in the hospital, but really not much about his state had changed.

“How sure are you exactly that Whittaker won’t come back?” Lavey asked Robin unsure as they ate. Robin had finished her dish quickly and was feeding a bottle to Cassiopeia, who lied between her arms.

“I’m not, but I’m sure he won’t try with you again though, he’s touched rock bottom with you,” said Robin trying to dissipate his nervousness.

“He said he would kill us,” reminded Lavey. “I don’t know how you’re so calm about it.”

“’Cause people send death threats every day. Seriously, every Monday your brother and I get a death threat in kitten paper, for a few years now,” Robin shrugged. “Besides, I won’t rest until that son of a bitch is in prison. No one hurts two of the people I care the most about and gets away with it. Your brother and I have caught serial killers together in more than one occasion, people way more difficult than Whittaker. He better be enjoying his freedom because he won’t have it for much longer.”

“But my brother is not available to help out...”

“No,” Robin agreed. “And you know what? He should never have to deal with Whittaker again, he’s had enough. This time I’m going to prove him how well he’s taught me and I’m going to gift him the best I could ever gift him; that dude between bars for the rest of his life.”

“Robin is a very intelligent woman,” commented Ilsa with a nod. “You can just sit and relax, she’ll get the job done. And Wardle is not too bad either.”

“He offered me a job for the Met in more than one occasion,” Robin commented casually, enjoying impressing Lavey.

“I need to discuss something with you though, Lavey,” said Lucy through the table. “Do you have somewhere to stay? We have a guest room, you can stay here for as long as you want.”

“Well I inherited a lot from my great-grandfather, a manor between others, but I do not intend to keep it. I’ve put it for sale,” said Lavey. “And I’ve left the money in the bank. I was initially planning on going back to Cambridge tomorrow but now, with all that’s happened.... I think I’d like to stay here, if you’re offering, until Whittaker gets caught. I want to be close to the action... and I’d like to be there when Cormoran wakes up and I want to help everywhere I can. I’ve got good grades, I can afford taking a bit longer to go back.”

“Good,” Lucy smiled satisfied. “Then I’ll show you to your room later. And Robin, will you be good with Cassiopeia, want us to take her in while Cormoran’s in the hospital? Ted and Joan will arrive in the morning, they can help here.”

“Actually,” Robin nodded. “I’d need for you to keep Cassiopeia, but only for a day or two, until I get Whittaker. Just in case he comes to the flat, I want her out of the danger.”

“Is there any way I can help?” Lavey asked Robin. “I could be a bait...”

“You stay and help your sister out with anything you can,” said Robin gently. “Don’t go anywhere alone until Whittaker’s arrested, and most importantly, don’t try any acts of heroism. Stay safe.”

“But you shouldn’t go alone aft...”

“I won’t,” Robin assured. “Don’t worry okay? This is my job, I know how to do it, not the first time. But it’s infinitely harder to do my job if I have to be worrying about others, you understand? So you need to say safe.”

“Okay,” Lavey sighed and shrugged. “But you call me if I can help. I study physics, I’m smart.” Robin smiled.

“Don’t doubt it. You saved Cassiopeia and mine’s lives, so...” Robin winked. “You can keep an eye on your brother for me though.”

“You can count on it,” he smiled.

It was raining as Robin exited her flat later in the night to head to the office. After spending hours barely sleeping she decided to head and go over the investigation, trying to figure out where Whittaker might be hidden. Shanker had suspected the guy was out of Whitechapel now, since there he was too well-know, but it seemed unlikely that he’d run far, since when he killed Leda he had stayed around, and so had he with a dead girlfriend in his flat for a month. He wouldn’t think he’d be caught.

She had been in the office for two hours when she heard it. There was a distinct sound of steps on the stairs, slowly. Robin looked around in the outside office. Everything was dark, since it was late, except for the light coming from her computer. She heard the steps approaching the door reading:

_C. B. Strike & R. V. Ellacott_

_Private Investigators_

Quickly, Robin reached for one of the umbrellas on the umbrella stand and a knife from the kitchenette. She turned on the stove where a kettle rested with water that she hadn’t used for her tea half an hour before, pulled a bag of ice from the freezer and turned the computer screen off. She then hid behind the wall of the kitchenette and waited until there was a knock on the outside office’s door.

“Cuckoo!” Whittaker sang cheerfully. “Come out and play... I know you’re in there!” Robin turned the stove off and grabbed the kettle, quietly putting the boiling water inside a light-weight hard-plastic container. She heard Whittaker manipulating the locket and the door opened slightly. “Cuckoo....” Whittaker whispered. “I know you’re hiding there... I saw the light from the street. You have no way out.”

“Maybe,” said Robin, and as quickly as a lighting she turned around the wall with the container in her hands and threw the boiled water against Whittaker’s face. He shouted and in the commotion, Robin hit him as hard as she could with the long umbrella, making him collide against the floor with a grunt.

“You bitch!” Whittaker shouted, going to jump on her. Robin moved on time and Whittaker collided with the wall in the complete darkness, hitting the light switch and the light turned out, blinding them both for a second. Robin hit him again with the umbrella and it broke and Whittaker stood up angrily holding a long knife. Robin held her own and observed satisfied as Whittaker’s face was full of burns, all reddened. “Oh, you’re so dead...” he approached her threateningly.

“I’m sorry, was that too warm?” Robin asked innocently. “Allow me to fresh you up...” She knifed the ice bag with one stretch of her arm holding the knife, and using the knife as a catapult, she threw the ice bag towards him. Small bricks of ice flew in all directions, mostly hitting Whittaker hard, making him shout and leap towards her.

He got her slicing the side of her neck superficially in a diagonal line and they both fell to the ground, Whittaker on top. Accidentally, he had impaled himself on the knife. Robin, who had shouted and was in momentary shock due to the sting of her neck, blood pouring out quickly, and the fall on her back and head, took a moment to realise that the knife had penetrated Whittaker’s stomach and didn’t notice until Whittaker rolled off her and laid on the floor, making weird throat noises as if he was asphyxiating and looking down at the blood streaming from his stomach.

“What the...?” Robin then saw her hand covered in his blood and dropped the knife, horrified. She looked at Whittaker, who had lost all the colour of his face and was panting trying to stop the bleeding with his hands while trying to get up to leave. Robin got up and kicked the knife away, removing her jumper and pressing it against her neck, that bled copiously, while calling 999.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I haven't updated in a while any of my stories, but truth is the lack of reviews makes me think no one cares if I update this or not so I figure why lose my time grabbing the laptop and updating when I could be doing other stuff? I truly do enjoy writing and for me, I get the same joy even if I don't publish. The entire fic is written, I already had joy with it, publishing is only to share it if people like it.
> 
> Finally I've decided to put up this chapter, but I've decided I won't publish any other of this story unless I get 5 reviews, and that way I can filter and don't lose time updating stories that don't interest much in favour of updating more often those that do get petitions for more chapters. After all, a writer doesn't publish another book of a saga if the one before is not bought. This will go on until this story ends, if you get to see the end. This is not out of anger or anything, not really, but I think us fanfic writers need to have some pride, you know? I think we work very hard to create aditional content, and if no one cares we're equally happy writing it for ourselves and don't losing time putting it up online only so someone can steal the work (which happens very often) but we get 0 credit.


	22. Big pouty dog

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SPECIAL THANK YOU AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO: Nessa_Val, Unknown, EllTorr99 (i'm writing a lot of that so you'll be happy! talking about other fics as well), GinnyW1981, Calipso. I feel so much gratitude towards you. You guys are amazing. Love you.
> 
> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU

The adrenaline for seeing Strike kept the exhausted and drained Robin from falling asleep as she hurried making her way through the hospital halls. The sun was up and it was already late in the morning, a cold, snowy day of winter, more. She was wearing one of Strike’s jumpers, far too big for her but so warm, over her shirt, and had boots high to her knees. A dressing covered her neck partially, protecting eight stitches of wound.

Her long legs moved quickly down the long corridor towards the room to which Strike had been moved overnight, after having been stable for enough hours to be considered okay to put him out of the ICU. She knocked on the door and opened it slightly.

“You did it!” Lucy instantly hugged her. “Can’t believe you bloody killed him!”

“It was an accident,” Robin murmured with a little chuckle, pulling apart and looking at Strike in a bed. To her surprise, his eyes were slightly opened looking at her and although he was pale and looked tired, he smiled a little bit. One of his arms was lazily around Cassiopeia, who rested against his chest, as the head of the bed was raised up 160º allowing him to be a bit propelled up. There was a heavy bandage covering his head and cables disappearing into his gown, an IV in his free arm. “Hey you.”

Robin smiled warmly at him, approaching him.

“He barely woke up just now, the doctor was just checking out,” Nick commented, standing by the bed. “He’s not very talkative, but he makes sounds.”

“Good,” Robin kissed Strike’s forehead. “I’ve missed you so much...” she murmured leaning to kiss his lips. He kissed her back surprisingly eagerly and Robin smiled against his lips, one hand caressing Cassiopeia’s back. “How are you feeling?” she asked softly as they pulled apart, stroking Strike’s cheek. He groaned and shrugged a little. Robin understood he really wasn’t ready to talk, so she simply nuzzled her nose against his neck and kept her arms around him. She felt Strike’s arm rise a little over her back, falling on the low of it, and she heard him sigh in content, pressing his cheek against her head. Now they were complete.

**. . .**

Three days later, it was clear as water that it wasn’t that Strike didn’t want to talk or feel like talking, but that he was unable to. The injury had affected the areas of his brain in charge of the speech muscles of the mouth and of the voluntary movement, which meant that he was somewhat impaired. Good news was that the doctors thought there was a high probability that with speech therapy and physiotherapy he’d go to back a state of almost complete normalcy, but for now he had a hard time speaking, reducing his communication to guttural noises, and although he could move, he felt his limbs were weak and worked slow, and he couldn’t do more complex physical tasks such as clicking his fingers or writing, his fingers were hard to coordinate and he tended to be clumsy in his movements, so for the moment, he barely left the bed.

He did not like his new situation one bit. When he felt sick –and as his brain was still a bit swollen from the surgery, it wasn’t a rare situation- he could only communicate it with clumsy vague expressions and guttural sounds, which for a man used to looking normal no matter what was very hard, and they had to learn to read his face like a baby and know if he was in pain or about to throw up or suffering a seizure, since a couple light ones occurred over the days.

“Oh, sush, you’re like a bloody dog,” Robin giggled as Strike growled at the taste of the food he had been given, and she forced another spoonful into his mouth. “This has carrot. You like carrot.” Strike moaned sadly in resignation, pouting. “It’s funny that you can’t write how stunning I look but you can move enough to pout.” She added jokingly.

“You look better,” commented Ilsa looking at Cormoran approvingly from the armchair she was sitting on, her big belly making her tired. Strike answered with a weird noise Robin had learnt meant he heard her, but she was sure he wouldn’t be able to translate it into actual words. Lucy had just left to attend Ted and Joan for lunch. “You’re right, he _is_ like a dog. Even the beard grew three sizes.” She added with a smirk. Robin snorted a laugh, caressing Strike’s beardy cheek.

“Come on, Doberman, finish your food,” Robin encouraged. Strike looked at her intently and accepted the next spoonful without complain. He was getting thinner and the hospital food was full of nutrients to make sure he was getting the right amount.

Strike fell asleep right after eating, in a striking imitation of his daughter. He was growing frustrated and sadder by the minute, and it exhausted him mentally and emotionally. He couldn’t hold his daughter properly because his arms weren’t strong enough, he couldn’t initiate a kiss because his mouth wasn’t so responsive, he could hardly munch even so most of his meals were liquid or semi-liquid. He couldn’t talk, which was the worst, despite how quiet he usually was. One day before going back to Cambridge, Lavey came and introduced himself, and Strike couldn’t ask him how life was or take interest in him or anything. He couldn’t ask anyone when they looked tired or sad, he couldn’t help around, he was just a baggage for everyone. He couldn’t even be a father, nor do his job, nor be a boyfriend. And when Robin’s parents had come to visit him, he hadn’t been able to do anything but bore them, observe and make stupid ridiculous sounds. He couldn’t even make his face smile. He felt increasingly useless. So he tried to sleep as much as possible and forget what he had become and try to not bother anyone any further.

“All right,” Robin seemed enthusiastic one day, sitting on the verge of Strike’s bed and caressing his face. “Until your brain starts improving, we need a communication system so, I’ve come up with one. You can make noises right?” Strike’s eyes fixed on her with a light frown. “What we can do is deep tones are negative, sharper ones, positive, now, for example, long sounds are like ‘yeah!’ and short ones are like ‘fuck you’,” Robin chuckled, joking. “What do you think?” Strike did something alike a hum and Robin smiled, leaning to kiss him. “You’ll be all good in no time.”

But she couldn’t be more wrong. Two weeks after landing in the hospital he was discharged without being able to make comprehensible sounds and with clumsy physical movement, like a big baby, and the doctors started making them believe he might never talk again. If it was a big toll on everyone, it was twice the toll in Strike. The worst? He couldn’t do a thing for Cassiopeia and he was pretty sure Robin would soon not want to have a thing to do with him. And he started retreating himself.

The first night at home, Robin snuggled into his chest and fell asleep in an instant, but in the morning, Strike wasn’t snuggled with her anymore. Robin’s eyes opened as she heard a range of long, soft sounds, and she moved to see Strike leaning over the crib, clumsily stroking Cassiopeia’s form. He couldn’t quite move his fingers, so he just roughly moved his arm up and down. Cassiopeia was weeping a little and Strike was probably trying to comfort her.

“Oh, what’s wrong Casey?” Robin cooed standing next to Strike and looking down. “I think someone wants daddy time.” She said with a small smile, picking Cassiopeia up and carefully handing her to Strike, putting her hands under his arms to ensure she wouldn’t fall if his arms gave in.

Strike flopped on the bed and looked down intently at his offspring, his nose brushing with the miniature version. It didn’t matter the range of noises he made, it just seemed to scare Cassiopeia and what started like a fuss became a full storm with loud cries and reddened face, and Strike gave up, putting Cassiopeia on the bed and leaving the room.

“Corm...” Robin sighed and picked Cassiopeia up, whispering nothings while rocking her and kissing her head as the baby instantly calmed down. Robin then walked out into the sitting room to find Strike sitting on the sofa with his headphones on and seemingly reading what, due to his struggle with his hands, was probably a random page of a random book. Robin felt his stomach drop, seeing the silent tears bright on his cheeks and the way he ignored them. “Here, Cassiopeia, daddy needs you honey...” Robin took Strike’s book away and attempted to place Cassiopeia in his arms, but Strike growled and walked away, back into his bedroom. Robin stood there, not knowing what to do.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The current priorities for updating are:  
> \- The cormorant and the robin – 8 comments in last chapter.  
> \- The daughter – 5 comments in last chapter.  
> \- Where we stand together – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 5,45 comments by chapter.  
> \- To be continued – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 2,04 comments by chapter.  
> \- I will light a fire – 4 comments in last chapter. Gets about 1,85 comments by chapter.
> 
> THESE STORIES WILL CONTINUE BEING UPDATED for now. At any point, one of them may move to the black list. All I demand for me to publish another chapter of a story is to get at least 6 comments after a new chapter. If this happens, a new episode will come. With this new order, I expect all these five stories will be fully published before the year ends. Therefore there'll be approximately two stories being updated daily until the year ends, or every couple days.
> 
> When will new stories be updated? I've got right now four stories waiting to come to AO. Where we stand together part 2 and I will light a fire part 2 are two of them, the other two are completely new and unrelated. If all goes well, they will arrive in January.
> 
> THANK YOU


	23. My lucky stars

“What do you mean he’s neglecting Casey?” Nick asked, frowning.

“He doesn’t look at her, he doesn’t pay attention to her, he doesn’t even make sounds anymore, ever. He’s ignoring the world. I’ve never seen him so depressed,” said Robin with a concerned frown. When being home had become too much, she had taken Cassiopeia and declared an emergency meeting with Nick, Ilsa, Lucy and Greg, at Lucy’s house.

“But he loves Cassiopeia, why would he do that?” Lucy was full of worry.

“Because he feels like he’s not good enough, like a failure or a disappointment,” Robin analysed. “He sees he’s of no use to anybody and that Cassiopeia actively fears him at times, so he tries to blend in with the walls and affect the world the least he can. But Casey misses him, she doesn’t understand why he’s not himself.”

“Christ...” Ilsa sighed leaning back against the sofa. January was coming to an end and she’d be giving birth soon, and wanted Strike back by then.

“Does he eat?” Nick asked.

“Barely,” Robin sighed. “He refuses my help so he gets a bit like an animal. Goes to the fridge, grabs whatever he can with his poor hand ability and bites into it. Drinks water straight from the faucet if I leave it open, like a cat, because he can’t grab glasses... but it has to seem like I did it by accident... so sometimes I ‘accidentally’ leave biscuits around for him. I’m telling you, is like living with an animal, on one occasion I saw him with his head inside a pan of steak leftovers I had left on the counter, using his mouth to eat straight from it. And since he’s still rather clumsy with his mouth, he wasn’t succeeding much. And I’m not going to tell you about his bathroom skills.”

“You’re the psychologist,” said Ilsa softly. “What do you suggest we do?” Robin took a deep breath and shook her head.

“If any of you takes Cassiopeia for the time being, I can focus on Cormoran and force him to accept my help. Or I can take care of the baby and we put Cormoran in some facility where he can get help.”

The group sat in thoughtful silence for a few minutes before anyone spoke. Then Lucy sat up straight and let out a long breath.

“We are in this together,” said Lucy. “We could team-up and take turns. Cassiopeia can stay with us, the boys can help out... and then with Cormoran we just take turns to stay with him and try to help.” Robin nodded.

“I can’t believe he’s not improving one bit, the doctors said he just needed some speech therapy and whatsoever...” murmured Ilsa, shaking her head in frustration.

“I know,” Robin sighed. “Well, his arms seem stronger though, and he can walk, that’s something... but this frustrates him so much, he’s so used to being so independent...”

“We’ll help him,” Nick nodded. “We’ll get him back.”

After leaving the baby in Lucy and Greg’s care, Robin made her way back to the flat she shared with Strike and, to her surprise, found him sitting on the floor, sobbing silently. His knees supported one of their photo albums opened and Robin scowled, sitting next to him and putting an arm around him, kissing his wet cheek softly. She looked down at the photo album and saw the four photos on display, two at each side. One was of Strike, Cassiopeia and Robin grinning at the camera, their cheeks pressed to each other, the baby in the middle with her big round eyes. The next, they were kissing Cassiopeia’s cheeks. She had only been two or three months old then. Then there was a picture of Robin sitting on a rocking chair in Cassiopeia’s bedroom holding the baby asleep in her arms and seemingly singing her a song. Robin knew that’s what she had been doing, she remembered it. The last picture showed Strike asleep with Cassiopeia against his chest and his head on Robin’s thighs as she leaned to kiss his forehead, her hands around his face.

“Hey...” Robin kissed Strike’s temple, her arms moving to squeeze him close. “It’ll be all right, Cormoran... we’re still here and we’re not going anywhere. Well, Cassiopeia is with Aunt Lucy for a few days all right? Just so I can focus on you, but it’s temporary.” Strike nodded and Robin’s eyes widened. “Cormoran, you just nodded! You nodded!” She grinned. Strike looked surprised at her, his eyes still full of tears, and then his eyebrows rose in realisation and a faint smile appeared in his face. “See, silly?” she cupped his face softly. “You _are_ getting better.”

**. . .**

Over the next few days they took turns to take care of Strike and go to work or be with their own families, but Strike was never left alone. Of course, Strike complained and, quite literally, growled, but eventually he accepted that was how things were going to be for a while until he was capable of taking care of himself without help. The arrangement seemed to, albeit after a few days, work positively and Strike seemed in better spirits, although sometimes he still got unreasonably angry. Each of them dealt with this in their own way; Ilsa with her logic and laws, that ended up tiring Strike until he didn’t feel like being angry anymore, Lucy with stubbornness, Robin with being so sweet and loving Strike felt bad for being a dick and Nick... well, one day Robin had arrived home to find Nick and Strike growling, literally growling, at each other, like two pissed off Pitbulls with their jaws clenched and their eyes angry. It had been so ridiculous suddenly Strike had started laughing, like really laughing, which had made the others laugh too, and happiness had filled them upon the realisation that Strike was finally laughing because he physically could, because his jaw muscles weren’t so stiff anymore.

Using a soft ball to exercise his hands, Strike managed to recover some mobility in them. It was still clumsy and a bit rough, but he managed to at least grab cutlery, even if it was as if they were wooden sticks, and he could grab his own glass of water, after having broken two by accident. A full month post surgery, he started taking his own showers, and his guttural sounds were starting to seem like he was almost speaking. Sometimes Robin caught him sitting with Cassiopeia, imitating the sounds she made and the way she’d move on the floor to try to sit up, to roll or to try to raise her head from the ground. They observed and imitated each other, which was adorable but, most surprisingly, useful for both of them. Going back to his baby roots and learning to move step by step as he had done over thirty years earlier seemed to help Strike’s body recover and start acting a bit better, to heal or create new connections in his brain and make things work.

Robin didn’t realise St. Valentine’s was St. Valentine’s. February 14 th told her nothing as she went through the morning routine in the office, but then she arrived home in the afternoon and something immediately caught her attention. Strike was to be left alone with Cassiopeia again, now that he could hold her and somewhat attend her needs and his own, so there was nothing weird with the fact that not one of their friends or family was in the flat. The heater was on, which wasn’t weird either with how cold the day was outside, and there were toys scattered around the floor, something normal too; now Cassiopeia was six months old and was starting to babble a lot, to take interest in books, toys, and even start dragging herself across the floor if you let her, and Strike kept her well motivated, even giving her things to make ‘music’ with.

What was odd whatsoever were the lights turned off and the candles lightened around the flat, along with flowers on the floor guiding her to the dining table. Robin grinned as she followed the flowers and saw the kitchen full of candles and her favourite meal on the table, its smell filling the kitchen nicely. And there stood Strike, handsome in his best suit, smiling at her.

“Oh, Cormoran... this is so nice and you’re so handsome...” Robin beamed walking towards him. However, before she could reach him, he handled her a paper. Robin’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she took the letter. As far as she knew Strike couldn’t quite write yet, and sure enough the paper looked as if a toddler had written it. But she understood the handwriting and she smiled as she read the words and her eyes filled with tears.

‘ _My dearest,_

_These past few weeks have been some of the worst of my life. I hate every moment I can’t tell you anything, nor ask how your day has been, I hate not being able to properly sing Cassiopeia her lullabies, and some days feel so scary I just want to hide back in bed. But every tough moment, I remember when I woke up and I was stressed remembering they had taken Cassiopeia from me and my sister told me you had found her and killed Whittaker and that you’d be back with her soon, and I was so amazed and impressed. Then I saw you and I knew you had been hurt but you were smiling and so happy and every time I think about it I know you must’ve been scared, but you still did it... and it gives me the strength to push myself forward._

_I realise I am the luckiest bastard on Earth. It doesn’t matter if I can’t tell you to give me a bloody beer, it doesn’t matter if I can’t give Cassiopeia some conversation, it doesn’t matter if I can’t work. At the end of the day, I am the luckiest. I am so lucky to be Cassiopeia’s father, to be the one you choose to come back home to, and to be alive despite everything to keep being my girls’ best ogre. I know it’s a miracle I’m still alive to wreck your lives up and see Cassiopeia grow and you become the best detective England has ever seen... and I’m not going to take any of it for granted._

_Thank you for being my Polaris and put the light in my dark even when I don’t want it. Thank you for accepting Cassiopeia and me and caring for us even when we’ve shat ourselves up... and thank you for always looking at us as if we put the moon up in the sky, even when we –and mostly me- pissed you off. I know none of this has been easy for you, with a child no one asked if you wanted it, with a disabled boyfriend and a psychopath lurking around... and I can’t be more grateful that you’ve stuck with us despite it all. I promise I’m going to keep doing all I can to get better and be the man you deserve to go home to, to keep caring for you and doing my best to show you how special you are. To keep writing love letters even when technology advances so much we can just read each other’s minds. You are the best thing to ever happen to Cassiopeia and I, and we’ll spend the rest of our lives trying to make it up for you after all you do for us._

_Happy Valentine’s Day, my best friend. I hope we’ve got many more ahead._

_Yours,_

_Cormoran._

_P.D.: Excuse my handwriting... so much texting has made me forget how to properly write!’_

Robin giggled-cried finishing the letter and looked up at him with her eyes full of tears of gratitude and, she realised, love. She was in love with that crazy, silly ogre. And then his big hands were cupping her face and his lips, his wonderful warm lips, were on hers, on a kiss that was on fire, the king of all kisses, a kiss of someone whose mouth had remembered how to get it done right, a kiss that left her breathless, as their tongues met, and made warmth fill her entire body until she forgot the below zero degrees of the London streets.

And then the kiss suddenly ended and when Robin’s eyes opened, Strike was looking at her so intently, with such intensity and warmth, it made her blush. Then his mouth opened.

“Mmm...” he cleared his throat and tried again. “I.... wooov...” he frowned as he made an effort to put his lips and tongue in the right positions. “Uuuh....” Strike’s eyes moved to hers trying to understand if she had caught the message, and she beamed.

“Oh, Cormoran...” Robin cupped his face between her hands. “I love you too... you, and our little dysfunctional family.”

This time it was Strike who smiled and Robin’s lips the ones to crash against his.

 

 

 


	24. Epilogue

“Cassiopeia Mawes Strike, we’re going to be bloody late at this rhythm!” Strike roared looking upstairs.

It was Cassiopeia’s first day of primary school and the five-year-old girl was far from the nervousness and anxiety that filled Strike and Robin’s heart. She was wickedly smart, knew more about dinosaurs and Latin than any five-year-old they had ever known, and played the piano; her levels of confidence where over the top. She had never had troubles making friends either, with her sweet smile and her kindness and politeness, but the kid was a bloody desperation when it came to her toys; she was too indecisive to know which ones she wanted to take with her.

Strike sighed and passed his fingers through his unruly hair, now sprinkled with some gray hairs at his almost forty-two years of age. His wedding band shun in his finger with the sun coming from the curtains of the house they had bought barely a year earlier after their marriage, and the little girl finally made her apparition, trotting down the stairs.

“Daddy, daddy, I’m here!” she cheerfully yelled enthusiastically. She stood in front of him with her best ‘I’m a good girl’ expression, her smile big, her cheeks full, her big gray-green eyes looking innocent framed with long, dark eyebrows, and her long dark hair falling in perfect, shinny waves to her shoulders. “I chose Alan.” She added showing him her little brown stuffed monkey. Strike nodded.

“Good. Ready for school, poppet?” Strike asked squatting down and caressing her soft cheek. She had his same face chin and jaw shape. She nodded and smiled. “That’s my brave girl! I love you.”

“I love you too!” Cassiopeia gave him a toothless grin and Strike kissed his cheek softly, wrapping her up in my arms.

“Oh, our brightest constellation is ready!” Robin arrived beaming as she looked at the two loves of her life, her hand resting on the small bump in her belly as she walked to them.

“Mummy!” Cassiopeia ran towards Robin, who grinned scooping her up in the air and into her arms, making the little one giggle. Strike chuckled as Robin kissed Cassiopeia’s cheek soundly. “Are you coming with us mummy?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, my sunshine,” answered Robin, taking her phone from the pocket. “Come on, first day of school family selfie?”

Cassiopeia squealed and Strike hugged them from behind as they grinned at the phone and Robin snapped a picture.

“Now we’re ready,” Strike smiled leaning to kiss Robin on the lips. “Come on wife, let’s accompany this little Polaris to the infinite and beyond!”

The three got in the car and Strike smiled softly as he reached a hand to stroke Robin’s small pregnant belly over her clothes as she drove them through London. The family sang songs and played car games all the way to the new school and they finally arrived five minutes ahead of time, so they stood in front of the school gates, Robin and Strike feeling butterflies in their stomach out of nervousness and Cassiopeia looking around in awe and excitement.

“Remember, baby girl: if you don’t like it, you don’t have to come back tomorrow, we’ll find you another school,” Robin assured squatting down and hugging Cassiopeia close. “I love you.”

“I love you too, mummy.” Cassiopeia closed her eyes squeezing Robin.

“And if anyone touches you in an inappropriate way...” Strike started.

“Knee against groin,” Cassiopeia laughed, accepting Strike’s hug.

“That’s my girl,” Strike kissed the top of her head. “I love you so much.”

“Me too, daddy,” Cassiopeia chuckled at her parents.

“Well, you’re all set, we’ll miss you,” Robin adjusted Cassiopeia’s jacket and made sure her backpack had everything she needed.

“Make sure to have loads of fun okay?” Strike added squeezing Cassiopeia’s cheek softly. Cassiopeia nodded. Robin reached for another hug and Strike joined.

Finally it came time for Cassiopeia to go into her classroom and she left holding her teacher’s hand and smiling as she waved back at them. Strike and Robin waved back with an arm around each other’s.

“Am I the only one feeling like crying a little?” Strike murmured a full minute later, as they hadn’t moved from the spot. Robin laughed-cried and shook her head.

“She’s so big...” Robin pouted rubbing her eyes.

“I already miss her, let’s pick her up!”

“No,” Robin tiptoed to kiss his lips. “Let’s go home, eat tons of chocolate and watch Christmas movies until she comes back.”

“No work?”

“We are working... we have a difficult case of figuring out how to survive a morning without our precious little angel, you think that’s little?”

Strike smiled down at her and kissed her softly, his hand caressing Robin’s belly again.

“We’re never letting this one go,” he commented casually. Robin laughed and nodded.

They had never been so happy.

 


End file.
